


Danger Days One Shots

by SemicolonSimon



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: 3+1 Things, 5+1 Things, Angst, Autistic Kobra Kid, Autistic Mikey Way, Bob died fucking rip, Canon???? Sorry I don't know her, Crack, Cute, Dank, Fluff, Frank is 19, Frank literally wears heels at one point, Frank-centric, Gen, Gerard is 21, Gerard is a doodlebug, Gerard-centric, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, I hope nobody from MCR reads this, I take suggestions, I'm trying my best, Mikey is 18, Mikey-centric - Freeform, Mostly about Ray and Mikey because I love them and they're underappreciated, Mostly angst so watch out, My sons are all pure but they can be dicks sometimes, Ray Toro is a fucking angel, Ray Toro is the mom friend, Ray calls them his boys and they hate it, Ray gets v angery at his boys sometimes, Ray is 23, Ray toro is a mom, Ray toro pretty much adopted them, Ray-centric, Straight? What's that?, Swearing, Tags are hard but I'm having fun, Themes of Human Trafficking, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, We all need more Ray Toro in our lives, Wholesome, i love my sons, no ships, oh yeah there's swearing too, sometimes my boys are sad, they're all younger too btw, trigger warning, will add more tags as the story progresses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-08-22 20:14:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16604750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SemicolonSimon/pseuds/SemicolonSimon
Summary: Alternatively titled: the Danger Days music videos fucked me up real bad so I'm writing one-shots to dull the pain.





	1. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our loveable boys escape Battery City

Ray

 

“Psst. Ray.”

“Ray.”  
“Ray.”

“Robert, shut up,” Ray whispered, moving his mouth as little as possible. “We're in class. Can't it wait? And call me Raymond when we're in school please.”

“Fine, _Raymond_.” Bob snarked, then hesitated. “I'll come to your house later. We really need to talk.”

 

Ray opened his bedroom door at the fourth knock and smiled at his friend. “Hi, Bob.”

“Hey Ray,” the blonde said, scratching his nose and walking in. “Are there... cameras in here?”

“There was,” Ray mumbled. “They don't work anymore.” You could get fined for not reporting a broken camera. Ray didn't care. “So what did you want to talk about?”

Bob sat on Ray's bed and looked at him seriously. “I know you aren't taking your pills.”

“What?” Ray's heart pounded hideously. “I don't... what?”

“It's okay,” Bob chuckled. “I haven't been taking them either. Haven't for months.”

“What?” Ray gasped. “Why?”

“Same reason as you. To feel.”

Ray swallowed and sat in his gray chair. “Oh.”

“I have a plan,” Bob said suddenly. “To leave the city. We can't stay here Ray, it's constricting. We'll never get anywhere.”

“We don't know what's out there.” Ray shivered.

“Desert,” the blonde answered. “I've been doing research. Desert, and... who knows? Maybe past all that sand, there's life. Life besides Battery City.”

“Bob... I don't know...”  
“There's nothing for us here,” Bob argued. “Our families... they're artificial. They don't give a damn about us. We can't stay.”

Ray bit his lip, tasting blood and flesh that had already been chewed raw. He had thought about this before. “Okay. Okay, we'll escape. When?”

“Tonight,” Bob grinned. “I'll show up outside your window. I know how to get out.”

Ray shivered. “So soon?”

“Nobody'll be expecting it.” he got up and walked out. “I'll see you tonight.”

And Ray was left alone, to his troubled thoughts.

 

When the time came, Ray was lying on top of his bed, shoes already on, fear chasing the blood through his veins. A tiny 'crack' was heard at the window, then another.

Ray opened the window just in time to get struck in the face with a pebble.

“Bob!” He hissed, glaring at the blond who stood below. “Be quiet!”

“Jump down!” The boy stage-whispered. “It's not that far.”

Ignoring the fear in his chest, he slid off his windowsill and onto the concrete below, duffel bag slung over his arm, wincing when his knee was scratched on a shrub.

“Come on,” Bob said, grabbing his hand and pulling him along, in the direction of the wall. “I know the way.”

They hastily crossed streets alit with streetlamps, hopped plain wooden fences, and crept through yards. It was a few hours until they reached the huge concrete wall, stretched far above their heads.

Ray placed one hand against the cool stone and turned to his friend. “What now?”

With a grin, Bob placed his fingers on a lip in the wall. When he pulled, it peeled away like plastic, to reveal a crack. It wasn't big, but it was enough for two boys to fit through.

“Wow,” Ray said, squeezing through. The sun was rising rapidly, and the sand was cool and soft beneath his feet. The sky above was a familiar gray-brown but changed to a soft pastel blue further along in the distance. Ray let a handful of sand slip through his fingers.

“Incredible, isn't it?” Bob asked him. “I've only been here once, so I don't know my way around well. We should go.”

They walked for hours more, Ray staring around in amazement, not even noticing how tired he was.

Before the day had passed, they found their first road and saw a figure on a bike speeding towards them.

Innocent and trusting, they waited until the bike approached. On it was a figure in a white jacket, black shirt, and white pants, wearing a strange mask with blood-red lips.

“Hi,” Bob said. “Who are you?”

“My name is Draculoid,” The person said in a garbled voice, stepping off their white bike. “I am an outlaw.”

“Wow,” Ray gasped. “I'm Ray, this is Bob.”

“It is nice to meet you,” Draculoid hissed, black-gloved fingers finding a ray gun and pointing it at them. “Goodbye.”

There was a quiet 'zzzz' sound, then electricity, and Bob fell. Blood pooled around him.

With a cry of fear and desperation, Ray flung himself at Draculoid with a last ditch effort to survive, wrestling with the creature's gun before another shot went off, and it was on the ground, dead.

“Bob,” Ray sobbed, running to his friend. Blood twisted from his bare, twisted, blackened skull. Pink spots dotted the sand. “Bob, please. Look at me. Bob! We just escaped! YOU CAN'T LEAVE ME! BOB!”

He screamed until his throat was hoarse. He screamed until he could scream no longer until his voice twisted into a desperate whisper in his best friend's mangled ear until vultures began to circle overhead.

Ray sat in the hot sun and held Bob's cold hand until the sky turned black, then light again.

He would never forgive himself.

 

Gerard and Mikey

 

It had been one month.

One month since Gerard looked forward to taking his pill, one month since the cool medicine sliding down his throat comforted him. One month since he had felt _happy_.

Gerard was not happy now.

But he knew that was good. It was because he had stopped taking his pills. A few skipped here, a few skipped there, but now he had stopped altogether. He felt human.

But Mikey didn't.

Mikey still took the pills. He still willingly swallowed the poison that killed his creativity, one day at a time. He was still happy.

Gerard knew what he needed to do. He needed to escape the city, to live in the desert, in the sun, free from BL/ind's cruel grasp. And maybe it was selfish, but he needed Mikey with him.

His little brother was everything. His parent's love was shallow, not real. Artificial. But he knew that Mikey cared about him, even if that was his only emotion at the present. He needed his brother.

“Mikey,” Gerard whispered to his kid brother in the night. They shared a room.

“Mikey.”

“Yes, Gerard?” Mikey said, suddenly alert. A cool smile was on his face.

“You need to come with me,” the older swallowed, forcing a smile. “It's a surprise.”

“A surprise?” Mikey said. “Is this a happy surprise?”

Gerard read into his meaning. “BL/ind is okay with it. They asked me to do it, actually. Yesterday at school. We've been chosen.”  
“Chosen?” Mikey asked. “What do you mean?”  
“A test,” Gerard said, sneaking some fake excitement into his words. “They're testing the security of the city. We have to try to escape.”

“Really?” Mikey asked. “Don't they have machines for that?”

“No machine can account for the unpredictability of outlaws,” He said. “Which is why we have to stop taking our pills for a few days, to be like them for a bit.”

Mikey bit his lip. “Are you sure?”  
“It's perfectly safe,” Gerard smiled. “And remember, BL/ind told me to do it, so it must be okay.”

“Why us?” Mikey questioned.

“We're the age most outlaws are when they rebel,” Gerard recited his lie. “And remember, you can't tell anyone, not even mom and dad. BL/ind secrets.”

Mikey puffed his chest slightly. “Wow, okay. When do we leave?”  
“A few days,” Gerard said, relief beginning to flood him. “I'll let you know when it's time. You can go back to sleep for now.”

“Okay. Goodnight Gerard.”

“'Night Mikes.”

Gerard slept restlessly that night.

 

When the day finally came, Mikey was sick.

“I don't know Gee,” Mikey said when Gerard woke him up to leave. “Does it have to be tonight? I'm sick.”

“Yeah bud, I'm sorry,” Gerard whispered, lacing up his shoes. “You'll feel better soon, I'm sure.”

“Alright...” But Mikey did not seem convinced.

Their house was fairly close to the wall, and it only took half an hour to get there. Gerard lifted the gray-painted plywood up to show a hole chipped in the concrete floor, leading under the wall.

“Wow,” Mikey said, holding his stomach. “Impressive.”

“I'm glad you think so,” Gerard said, hopping into the hole and breathing through his claustrophobia. “Come on Mikes, let's get out of here.”

Mikey hummed and lowered himself in, slowly crawling to the other side. He breathed in sharply as his feet met sand. “Wow.”

“I know,” Gerard said, smiling in earnest. “It's really nice, isn't it?”  
“Yeah...” Mikey looked pale.

“Listen, Mikey,” Gerard said. “I have to be honest with you. BL/ind didn't tell me to do this. This isn't a test. We're escaping the city for reals.”

“Oh.” Mikey grew paler. “I mean. I think I knew. The pills... they kinda fog your brain. I figured it out.”

Gerard grinned. “We're gonna be Killjoys Mikes! We need Killjoy names.” He began walking, feet softly sinking into the sand. “Mine is Party Poison. I've been thinking about it for a while.”

“I had some ideas,” Mikey mumbled. “What-what do you think about Kobra Kid? With a k?”

“I like it,” Gerard smiled, but once he looked at his brother he frowned. “You feelin okay?”  
“Not really,” Kobra groaned. “Stomach hurts. Sweaty.”

Although the latter was true, the skinny boy was shaking like a leaf.

“Hey, maybe we should sit down—”

Suddenly Mikey collapsed, eyes rolled back in his head, body stiff and convulsing.

“Mikey!” Gerard yelled, throwing himself onto his knees next to his brother. “Mikey, Mikey talk to me!”

It seemed like hours, but after a minute Mikey went limp, tears trickling down his face.

“Gee?”

“Yeah Mikes, it's me. What happened?”  
“Hurts.”

Gerard swallowed. “We need to get you some help bud.”

“Not the city. They'll kill you.”

Gerard squeezed his eyes shut. If he didn't know they would kill his brother too, he would go right back. “Yeah. Okay Mikes, come on.”

He lifted him up, one arm around his waist and the other holding his hand that was slung over Gerard's shoulders, and began to walk.

They walked for days. Now and then, Mikey would collapse again, shaking and shivering like he was dying. They were hungry, thirsty, and exhausted. Mikey could barely walk.

Then they came upon a camp, with two people in it. A tall man with curly brown hair and a short boy with black hair.

Their family.

 

Frank

 

Unlike Ray, Mikey, and Gerard, Frank was alone. Utterly, completely alone. And he was not happy. Not at all.

His family didn't speak to him much, most of the time just flashing him the cold smiles the BL/ind pills gave them. Frank would flash a smile back. He was good at acting. He would have to be, he hadn't taken his pills in a year.

It was longer than most, but Frank was good at hiding it. He would throw the pills into gutters, bury them in other people's yards, throw them as far as he could. They sickened him.

He had a plan. It was rough, and certainly not good, but BL/ind was onto him, and he needed to leave the city fast.

He was running now. The sun had gone down and eleven o'clock had just passed, and he was in a Drac station—a place where Dracs suited up to leave and hunt Zone Runners.

This was the stupidest idea Frank had ever had, but in all fairness, he had only had ideas for a year. It was a difficult thing to get used to.

His clothes were white, and he was sure he'd be seen lying flat on the road, but then the Drac van drove over him he shoved his hands and feet up, grabbing the bottom and hoisting himself no more than an inch off the ground, and he was off.

He heard some sort of gate squeaking, and the van paused. His heart was beating so fast he was sure they could hear him. But the van carried on, and from his limited view of the desert, Frank could see sand. He smiled his first real smile in months.

It was scary, clinging to the bottom of a van while it drove at high speeds down a road, and his arms trembled with exertion, but he held on, against all odds, breathing heavily. He had practiced hanging onto things like this at home but this was very different. He was terrified.

Finally, when the concrete confines of the city were no longer in his sight, he let go.

His back hit the asphalt hard, and try as he might to protect his head, it still bonked painfully on the ground. He rolled several times, and in an attempt to stop scraped skin off his knuckles and palms, staining the ground red.

He lay on the ground for a few minutes, trying to regain his breath as the sounds of the van receded into the distance. He smiled again.

He bit his lip as he stood up, and looked around for any sign of life. Nothing.

And so he walked.

He walked for a long time. The food bars and the canteen of water he packed didn't last long, but soon he found a tiny spring that didn't look bad. The water was cool and tasted better than the water from the city. Less metallic.

He was set with water, but food was scarce. His legs began to shake with hunger and once he found himself curled in the sand with hunger pains. Still, he forced himself to move on, hiding in dead shrubs and cacti at night. He was determined to survive. He didn't stay in the city for 16 years to die now.

He steeled himself, to be able to function on less food for now. Until he found something.

It wasn't long. A campfire flickered in the distance, and Frank approached it, painfully slowly, harshly quiet. His breath was a whisper but his blood was like an avalanche in his ears.

A man with curly brown hair was sitting by the fire (Frank didn't even know curly hair existed), eyes closed, mouth slightly parted. He looked so peaceful that Frank almost felt bad about stealing his food.

Almost.

But when the can hit the sand and the green-hazel eyes snapped open, the chase began. Frank was terrified, so he masked it with anger. What he didn't know is that he had found his family. And he was happy.

 


	2. Humble Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Fabulous Four meet each other for the first time.

When Ray saw beyond the concrete confines of the city for the first time, it took his breath away.

There were so many living things, even if they were just scraggly bushes and cacti. The sky was familiar, but only for a bit, and then it turned a clear pastel blue. Ray hadn't seen many colors before.

And the sand.

Oh, the sand.

All his life, Ray had felt nothing but concrete, hardwood floors, and plastic grass under his feet. The sand was soft and smooth, and warm. It was inviting and comforting and Ray could have spent days watching it spill through his fingers.

Yes, Ray would never get tired of sand.

  
  


Ray got tired of sand very, very quickly.

It was still nice, much nicer than what he had from his life before, but it was hard to walk through, and it was endless, and it was a cold hard company. Especially after Bob died, and the trickle of blood that came from his ripped open and twisted skull dribbled onto the ground and turned it dark. The sand didn't seem so inviting or comforting after that.

The first few sunrises were okay. He had a few bottles of water and food bars, but it was hot during the day and freezing during the night.

It wasn't until he started running out of food that it got bad.

After that, he found himself gasping and trembling with hunger, soft and weak from his days pampered and safe in the city. He had never known such thirst or such desperation. He was so desperate, in fact, that when he came across a pool of water he didn't even think before drinking it.

And that was how Show Pony found him, lying in the sand, dying from the poison that Dracs put in the water to kill Zone Runners. It was sheer luck that Doctor Death-Defying had the cure.

But the poison did a number on his body. He was comatose for weeks, and when he finally woke up, screaming for Bob, for his mother, anybody, Show Pony was there.

"Where am I?" Ray asked, feeling very much like a child even though he was nineteen.

Show Pony didn't answer.

Later, Ray would learn that they were mute, and couldn't speak to him even if they wanted to, but he didn't know that at the moment, and he was very afraid, waking up in a strange bed in a strange place with a strange person in a helmet watching him, not speaking.

Ray shuffled around so he was upright, curled into a ball. "Where am I? Who are you?"

Without uttering a word, Show Pony reached up to a string dangling from a hole in the wall and pulled it. The sound of a ringing bell came from another room.

Ray's eyes flicked between the doorway and Pony as a man in a wheelchair rolled in. He was rough-looking, in the way that truckers are. He had a scraggly black beard and hair, and his teeth were crooked.

"Glad to see you've joined us in the land of the living," he said. "I'm Doctor Death-Defying."

"Where am I?" Ray asked. "What do you want?"

"What do I want?" The Doctor asked. "Simple, I want you to learn to survive. You escaped BL/ind, which means you're one of us now."

"One of you?" Ray asked, heart pounding.

"A Killjoy. Zone Runner. Motor Baby. Whatever you want to call it."

"A Killjoy," Ray stated, now truly afraid. Did he really want to be a dangerous outlaw, running all his life? "Do I have a choice?"

"There's always a choice," The Doctor said, not taking his hands off the wheels of his chair. "Your choice is either become a Killjoy, and take a chance at life, or go back to BLI and face the consequences for escaping."

"Right then," Ray swallowed. "When do I start?"

  
  


Ray spent the next two months learning to survive. Show Pony taught him to shoot and some basic karate, and Doctor Death taught him how to tell if the water was poisoned, how to find shelter, how to avoid Dracs, and where the best markets were. Then he gave him some carbons, a blaster, and a bottle of water, and sent him on his way, claiming that they didn't have enough space or resources to keep him with them.

Ray was terrified to stay alone in the harsh desert again, but he didn't complain, because The Doctor told him that complaining never got anybody anywhere. You get what you get and you don't throw a fit.

He survived alone in the desert for months, and he was pretty well off. Over time he got rid of his plain BL/ind clothes and replaced them with a leather jacket and jeans, paying for them with carbons he got from odd jobs. He shed the name Ray and donned a title of his own creation. Jet Star.

His birthday passed in the desert, and he turned twenty. He wished Bob could have been with him.

By the time he met Frank, you would never be able to tell he had lived in Battery City less than a year ago.

He was sitting by his campfire one night, leaning against a stone and drifting off, when he heard something drop onto the sand.

He jolted up with a start and stared into the obviously scared eyes of a short kid who couldn't have yet been seventeen.

They both were frozen like a deer in the headlights for a solid ten seconds, until the kid ran off, abandoning the supplies he had obviously been trying to steal.

"Hey!" Jet yelled, getting up and tearing after him. He wasn't sure what his intentions were, but the kid was not difficult to catch up to. He obviously was not used to running in the sand, and of course, his legs were much shorter.

When Jet caught up to him, he leaped forward and tackled him to the ground. The kid wriggled underneath him. "Let me go!"

"Jesus Christ," Jet scoffed. "How old are you?"

"Fuck you!" The kid yelled, almost squirming free until Jet grabbed his hands and yanked them behind his back, like a police officer arresting a delinquent.

"Stop squirming!" Jet huffed. "I'm not gonna hurt you, I just want to talk."

"That's what they all say," the kid grumbled but stopped struggling.

"If I let you go," Jet started, "Do you promise not to run away?"

"Fine, yes, I promise," he mumbled. "Just let me go, my wrists hurt."

As promised, Jet released the kid, who jerked away and rubbed his wrists but didn't run.

"What's your name?" Jet asked him.

"Who's asking?" He retorted, glaring at Jet.

"I'm Jet Star," the brunette replied, resisting the urge to crouch down to the kid's height. "How old are you?"

"What do you want?" Shortie asked, a bit of fear shining in his hazel eyes. "I'm sorry for trying to steal your stuff."

"I don't care about that," Jet waved his hand nonchalantly. "I'm just a little worried about you. If you have to steal, you must not be very well off."

"I'm doing fine," the kid snapped, obviously not aware of the fact that his cheekbones jutted out and that he had bags under his eyes. In the dirty black and white jumpsuit all Battery City citizens were required to wear, he looked even smaller than he probably was.

Pity jolted through Jet as he regarded the boy. He wouldn't last a week if nobody helped him.

"Do you know how to shoot a blaster?" The brunet blurted out before he could stop himself.

"What?" The kid said, confusion evident on his face. "Um, no."

"Do you want to learn how?"

With a smile, the boy accepted the offer, and Ray added the first member to his family.

Jet taught him to shoot a blaster, and where the markets were. He taught him to tell if the water was poisoned, and how to find shelter. He taught him basic karate, how to avoid Dracs. Everything Show Pony and Dr. D taught him.

But when the time came when the boy had to leave, Ray asked him to stay.

Jet Star and Fun Ghoul (as he was newly named), two outlaws, against the world.

Ray was happy with his family, no matter how small it was.

  
  


After that, it was about three months until they met the Way brothers.

After that, it was only about three months until they met the Way brothers.

It happened one day they were sitting next to a fire as the sun crept towards the horizon, and Jet saw a large figure approaching.

"Who's there?" He asked, jumping up with his blaster in hand while Frank did the same.

As the person came nearer, Ray realized it was actually two people, one supporting the other's weight as they stumbled along.

"Please," said the one supporting the other, a boy with dark brown hair, dressed in a black and white jumpsuit. "You need to help my brother. He's very sick."

"Why should we help you?" Frank snapped. "You might be spies for BL/ind."

"Please," sobbed the boy, as his friend looked up with a dopey smile on his face and stage-whispered into the other's ear.

"Look G," he hissed, staring at the sky, his pupils dilated. "It's you, up there in the sky, flying away." The boy giggled. "Bye G!"

Without another warning, he collapsed, body stiffening and shaking violently.

"Not again," the first boy whimpered helplessly, lowering him onto the sand gently.

Jet rushed over to help, his protective instincts kicking in. The boy had straight, dark brown hair similar to his friend's, but he had a taller head and a sharper jawline. He was no doubt younger than the first boy, although he was an inch or so taller. His face was pale.

Ray crouched next to him and put a hand on his forehead, which was clammy and cold. His lips were tinged with blue, and his teeth were clenched tightly.

"He's having a seizure," Jet mumbled. "We can't help him now."

The brunet ignored the horrified look in the older boy's eyes and held tight the hand of the kid.

After a minute or so, he stopped seizing and fell limp, swallowing.

"Hey, you okay?" Ray asked, holding the boy's head in his hands gently. "You gotta talk to me kid."

The boy's eyes focused on him, and he squinted. "Mom? 'sat you?"

"My name is Jet Star," Ray mumbled soothingly, ignoring the slurred speech. "I'm gonna help you."

"Get stairs," the kid mumbled absentmindedly, then bursting into a fit of giggles. It only lasted a moment though, as he then he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. "Hurts."

"I know kiddo, I'm sorry," Ray hushed, turning to the older boy. "How long ago did you escape the city?"

"Four days, maybe?" He answered, scared hazel eyes meeting Jet's. "Is he gonna be okay?"

"Probably, but it's just as I feared," Ray grumbled. "He's suffering withdrawal from the medication they give you at Bat City. You should never stop taking it all at once."

"I didn't think..." the boy began. "This is all my fault. I made him stop taking them. If I had just left him alone-"

"Then he'd still be with BL/ind," Ray interjected. "Trapped with them forever in an emotionless life. You did him a favor."

"Mom!" The younger kid suddenly yelped, staring up at Ray with a big grin. "I knew it was you!"

"I'm not- oh!" Jet flinched slightly as the boy dove forward and hugged him tightly. He looked to the older boy for help but received none. The little shit was smiling.

Finally giving in, Ray pulled the smaller boy partway onto his lap and returned the hug. "Ghoul, get these guys some food. What are your names by the way?"

"I'm, uh, Party Poison," Party said. "This is my little brother Kobra Kid."

"It's nice to meet you," Ray said, somewhat awkwardly since he was still wrapped in the tight embrace of Kobra. Nevertheless, he smiled at them politely. And so he added the final members to his strange, happy family.

 

 


	3. 3 Times The Boys Told Ray Their Names +1 Time He Told Them His

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they all learn a bit more about eachother

1: Party Poison

Jet sat in the diner, reclined in a scrappy lawn chair reading a book. They didn't find books often, living out in the desert and all, but when they did Ray (who was the only one who bothered with literature) never could find time to read them. There was no time to relax in the zones. You were always running, always fighting, always doing something. Never a moment to breathe.

But now was the perfect opportunity to chill. Mikey and Frank had gone to the market, and Gerard was in his room, probably painting. Ray was a few chapters in (the book was The Hobbit, in case you were wondering) and he was already hooked. Maybe he could get halfway through before the boys returned.

There was a tap on his shoulder. Of course.

Ray dog-eared the book (you can't get bookmarks out in the desert either) and set it down. "Yes, Party?"

The brunet looked almost shy, holding a small box about the size of a water bottle. "I was uh, wondering if you could help me."

"Uh, yeah sure!" Jet said, slightly startled Party had asked for help. "What do you need?"

"I got this last time I went to the market," he started, holding out his box which proved to be red hair dye. "But I don't think I can dye my own hair without getting it all over everything."

"Okay." Jet pulled himself up and took the box, headed towards their bathroom. "Red, huh?"

"I like red," Party chirped. "It's bright."

"It's going to make your head look like a big target," Jet snorted. "But I don't control your life, so you do you."

When they reached the bathroom, Party pulled off his red yellow and navy blue tank top and hopped up on the counter, feet dangling as he slouched.

"Okay," Jet mumbled, opening the box and pulling out a container that looked a bit like something you would keep salad dressing in. “It says here to put on rubber gloves but we don't have any of those, so.” He squirted a generous handful of the cool red goop onto his bare palm. “Fuck it.”

He squished his hand onto Party's scalp, and the aforementioned boy shivered. “It's cold.”

“Duh,” Jet snorted, working the dye into the thick hair.

After working it all in, and letting it set, it was time to rinse it. Party was now bent with his head over the sink while Ray poured cups of water on his hair. “Party, for Destroya's sake, hold still—“

“Gerard.”

Jet stopped what he was doing to look at the boy. “What?”

“My name is Gerard,” he said. “Just thought you should know.”

“Oh.” He continued to rinse to pretend he wasn't surprised. “Thanks for telling me, Gerard.” Fear and nervousness wormed its way into Jet's stomach. Was he ready to tell him his name yet? The last person to call him Ray was Bob, and well... Bob wasn't here.

“You don't have to tell me your name,” Gerard cut into this thoughts. “I was just ready to tell you mine. Take your time.”

“Thank you,” Jet sighed, relieved. He wasn't ready, and he was immensely grateful.

Once the excess hair dye was all rinsed out, Jet grabbed a dark gray towel from where it sat on the counter and began to rub Gerard's head vigorously, secretly enjoying the irritated grumble that came from his lips.

“Looks nice,” Jet nodded after Party had put his shirt back on and was admiring the vibrant new color in the mirror.

“Yeah it does,” Gerard hummed. “But you were right. It looks like a target.”

  
  


2: Fun Ghoul

It had been five hours since any of them had seen Ghoul, and they were worried sick.

Ray most of all, since he worried more than most. After all, it was just a simple run for water, he shouldn't have had any trouble. So why had he been gone for so long? Jet never should have let him go by himself.

And then the door swung open with a cheerful 'ding' and Ghoul was standing in the diner, blood dripping from his head.

"Where have you been?" Jet yelped, nearing hysterics as he ran over to the shortest Killjoy. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"I'm fine," Ghoul snapped, shouldering off Ray's worried hands. "I just got in a little clap, that's all."

"A little clap? A _little_ \-- Ghoul, there is no such thing as a 'little clap'. What happened to your head?"

"What, this?" He asked, gesturing to the large cut on his forehead. "Just a stray Drac with a knife, no biggie."

"We'll see about that," Jet grumbled, grabbing Ghoul's arm and dragging him into the bathroom, where they kept their medical supplies.

"Jeez mom," Frank snarked. "Worried, much?"

"You would be worried too if one of your best friends went on a potentially dangerous but short mission and didn't come back for five hours."

"It has not been five hours," Ghoul said, glancing at the cheap watch on his wrist. "It's been-- actually yeah it has been five hours. But I'm here now, and I'm fine!"

Jet ignored him. "Get up on the counter."

When the smaller of the two hesitated, Ray grabbed him under the arms and lifted him the short distance onto the stained white countertop, feeling secretly pleased with Ghoul's indignation. The little shit deserved it.

"You know," Ghoul stated. "I'm not a child. I can patch myself up when I get hurt."

"If you're not a child," Jet growled. "Then don't act like one."After a moment of silence, the brunet started cleaning Ghoul's cut with a cloth and sighed. "I'm sorry Ghoul, I know you're an adult. It's just... I worry about you guys. You're always getting into fights and getting hurt and I'm worried that, one day if something happens to me, you guys will..." Jet trailed off as his voice began to break, and took a few calming breaths, re-wetting the cloth and going back to work. "I know you're fully capable of cleaning yourself up, but I worry a little less once I've done it because afterward, I know you're okay. I can stop if you want."

"It's all right," Ghoul said after a moment. "I didn't know you really worried that much."

"Yeah, well," Ray huffed. "I guess there's a lot of stuff you don't know about me." He brandished a needle and thread and steadied his hands on Ghoul's cheekbones. "Now hold still, this might hurt a little bit."

"You know," the smaller boy said, wincing as the needle tugged and poked at his skin. "You can call me Frank. If you want. That's my name."

"Oh," Ray said, surprised, but not unpleasantly. "That's... nice to know. Thank you, Frank." He bit his lip and then continued. "I'm sorry if it's a bit rude, but I'd rather keep my name to myself for a little while longer. The last person who called me by it... well." Jet swallowed the lump in his throat. "You know."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Frank murmured. "I didn't know. What was his name?"

"He never had a Killjoy name," Ray said sadly, tying a knot in the thread. "But his name was Bob. He and I... escaped the city together. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him."He pulled taught the string and snipped it, then stepped back to admire his handiwork. "Not too bad. Any other injuries?"

"My ribs are a little bruised," Frank chirped, sliding off the counter. "But they don't need any medical attention. Thanks, Jet."

Ray beamed. "Any time."

  
  


3: Kobra Kid

Ray awoke to the sound of footsteps.

His hand grabbed the gun he kept under his pillow, on instinct, but soon he recognized the footsteps of Kobra Kid, and he relaxed. Before long he was almost asleep, but then he snapped awake once more when he heard the diner bell jingling softly.

Mind made up, he hopped out of bed, grabbing his leather jacket and slipping on his boots. He left his gun under his pillow.

Treading softly and quietly, he walked down the hall, through the main door, and out into the desert

The stars out there were incredible. There were almost no trees, so there was nothing obstructing the view of them, and the fact that you could see so many of them, what with the horizon stretching endlessly in every direction.

He looked at Kobra's footprints in the sand and was only a little surprised when he saw they led up the rickety metal ladder and onto the roof. The metal creaked slightly under his weight, but Ray ignored it and clambered upwards, finally finding himself on the flat concrete top of the diner, and found Kobra with his arms around his knees, staring at the sky.

"Hey kiddo," Jet murmured. "Whatcha doing up so early?"

If the moon had been but a tiny bit brighter, Ray would have seen the blush on Kobra's face, but alas the moon was small tonight, and the boy's face was mostly shrouded in darkness."I had a nightmare," Kobra whispered, obviously very embarrassed. "It's nothing, you can go back to sleep."

"Doesn't sound like nothing," Jet said, sitting next to him. "What kind of nightmare?"

Kobra shifted around for a moment before answering. "I don't really want to talk about it."

"It helps to," Jet murmured, "but you don't have to." He looked up at the sky. "Stars sure are pretty tonight, huh?"

"They're pretty every night," Kobra stated. "Except when it's cloudy."

They continued to chat about meaningless things--hair dye, weather, plants--and as they did so, Kobra ever so slowly scooted closer to him, shivering slightly. Nights were cold in the desert.

Finally, Jet reached out and wrapped his arms around the blonde's shoulders, pulling him close and leaning on his head.

"My dream," Kobra whispered, a hand stuck in Jet's jacket pocket. "I dreamed that--there was this little girl. And she was going to defeat BL/ind, but we had to protect her. And Korse--we had a clap, with a bunch of Dracs and Korse, and we all got really hurt, and they took the girl. So, we went to rescue her. And when, and when we got to the place, ya know, where they were keeping her, we fought with Korse again, and... and..." Kobra sniffed and buried his head into Jet's neck. "And Korse, shot Party. I tried to stop them Jet, I promise I did," he sobbed and curled into a ball slightly. "And then they shot me too, and then Ghoul and then... you. And the girl got away, but we were all dead."

"I'm sorry Kobra," Jet mumbled over his sobs. "That must have been hard. But it was just a dream, we're all right."

"Yeah," Kobra mumbled, not seeming very convinced. “I guess so.”

They sat like that for a moment, Kobra's head resting on Jet's shoulder, both looking at the stars.

“My name,” Kobra said suddenly. “It's... my name is Micheal. But uh, Party always called me Mikey, so you can call me that too, if you want."Jet smiled and hugged him slightly. "Mikey. I like it, it suits you. Thanks for telling me."Mikey mumbled something indiscernible and sighed, relaxing into Jet's hold. "Thanks for, um. This. Calming me down. I feel better."

"I'm glad," Ray hummed. "You ready to go inside then? You can stay in my room."

"I'd like that," Kobra smiled. "Thanks."

Mikey slept well after that, confident in the fact that Jet would look after him.

  
  


+1: Jet Star

The four fabulous Killjoys sat around a fire, eyes growing dim with sleep.

Party was mostly asleep at this point, leaning against Kobra, who was staring into the fire tiredly. Ghoul was spread on the sand on his stomach, head in his arms and his feet in the air, ankles crossed.

And Jet? Jet was watching his boys in a way that could only be described as proud. They were all so secretive and closed off when he met them, and they had come so far. They let their guard down around each other, told stories from their past, even went so far to say their real names.

But Jet hadn't. You would think he'd be the first to open up, to share his stories, to let his guard down, to tell his name. And under normal circumstances, he would be. But he had done that when he first entered the zones, and his friend had died because of it.

He would never forgive himself for that.

He felt somewhat guilty, knowing that he was withholding information about himself to his family. They had told him pretty much everything about themselves, and what had Ray done? Nothing.

He rubbed the dry skin on his knuckles and contemplated telling them. What was the worst that could happen, really?

Suddenly Mikey grabbed Gerard and slammed him into the sand. A millisecond later, a blaster scorched the sand where they had been. Mikey always did have better hearing.

Jet's eyes flashed up to the squadron of Dracs marching towards them, bright white clothing making itself known in the darkness before the sunrise. He cursed himself for not noticing them earlier.

He grabbed his blaster from his belt and took cover behind the Trans Am, yanking Ghoul to him as soon as he got close enough.

None of them said a word as they battled, the humming of charging ray guns and the sizzle of the blasts being the only sounds they heard, other than the roaring of blood in their ears and the hideous pounding of their hearts.

Drac after Drac fell, but there was many. They may have had the advantage of numbers, but they were marching with no shelter, and no armor other than the stark white leather of their BL/ind issued jackets.

The sun rose and shone in Jet's eyes, making him blink furiously and squint. He couldn't dodge the blast that came right for his head.

He was on the sand, his left ear ringing, as he heard his brothers yelling. He wanted to hear what they said, but he couldn't. He had never felt such pain in his life.

Ray had been shot before, and he would be shot again, but it had been in the leg, or the arm, or even the torso. Never in the head, and never in such a sensitive organ. If the gun hadn't been set to stun, Jet would be ghosted.

As it was, he could feel the pain, feel the blood trickling from his eye, feel the burning ache of blaster-scorched skin hissing. He was on his back, gasping in pain, unable to move. Unable to scream.

He lay there for days. Hours? Minutes? Seconds? Time was strange, reality was warped. He felt as if he were floating. Everything seemed far away.

And soft hazel eyes were looking into his, holding his shoulders, mouth moving, but it only came as a buzzing in his right ear. He forced himself to listen, despite the pain.

“Jet, Jet, com'on buddy, you gotta stay with me.”

“Party?”

“Yeah, yeah, it's me. Listen, you're alright, it's not fatal, you're gonna be fine. The Dracs are dead, Mikes is getting some meds for you. You're gonna be okay.”

“Oh Destroya,” Mikey's distressed voice cut in, staring at Jet with horror. “His—his eye—”

“--Is gonna be fine,” Gerard sternly said, but his hands were shaking as he took the supplies from his brother. “We'll bandage it and he'll be okay.”

“Can you see us?” Frank whispered in shock. “Jet, can you see us?”

“Sorta,” Ray mumbled. “Only outta one eye.”

“Well duh,” Gerard said, pulling out a square piece of gauze and pressing to his eye, wincing in fear at Jet's whimper of pain. He began wrapping it in medical tape. “Sorry, sorry. Deep breaths Jet, deep breaths.”

“M'name,” Jet mumbled, hands clenching fistfuls of sand that slipped from his fingers. “M'name's Ray. You told me yours so... only fair.”

“Seriously?” Frank said, talking in a humorous tone despite the tremble in his voice. “I waited that long for three letters?”

“Sorry to d'ssapoint you,” Ray chuckled. “My last name is only four letters too.”

“We can keep those to ourselves,” Party said, gently pulling Ray upright. “Or forget them altogether. They don't really matter in the desert.”

“Guess not,” Ray muttered, gently touching the bandage with his hand. “Probably have to wear an eyepatch now.”

"Ray the pirate," Mikey snickered, hands still shaking slightly. "Lord of the seas."

"What sea?" Ray grinned, looking at the pile of Drac bodies. "The sea of Dracs?"

"Shut up Ray," Mikey smiled.

Ray did.

 


	4. Heels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Frank is a little shit

As Frank wandered the Market, he let his eyes wander too.

The Market was an incredible place, really. It was filled with anything you could ever want, from food to clothes, to music, to vehicles, even furniture (not that many Killjoys had a use for furniture).

But only one thing caught Frank's eye that day, and that thing was the ugliest pair of banana yellow high heels he had ever seen.

First off, they were pleather. Honest-to-God, plastic, stick-to-your-skin pleather. Then, of course, they were tall. Really tall. They would give someone an extra five inches, easy. Because not only were they heels, they were platform heels.

It was just fate that they matched his aesthetic, honestly.

With a grin on his face and a plan in his mind, Frank bought the heels.

When he put them on and they fit perfectly, Frank smiled even wider. What were the odds? They came up a few inches past his ankles, and when he stood up (a bit unsteadily), he took a moment to bask in the glory of being just as tall as everyone else. 

Then he confidently began to stride to his friends.

When he arrived at where they were set to meet up, the others were already there, seemingly waiting for him. Perfect.

"Hey guys," Frank chirped, tennis shoes in hand (high heels, while fabulous, were very impractical for wandering in the desert sand. He would need to change eventually. Lucky for him they put plywood floors down in the market so he could show off his fancy footwear.).

"Hey Frank," Mikey mumbled, not looking up from his comic, while Gerard stared at his feet with what could only be described as fear. "What are those?" Ray questioned.

"You like?" Frank grinned, lifting up one foot in a pose, like an overly excited teenage girl. He didn't miss the almost impressed look Mikey shot his way.

"They're certainly.... interesting," Ray choked out, obviously not sure whether Frank actually liked them or not.

"How the everloving hell are you walking in those?" Gerard questioned, still staring at Frank's feet. "I can't even walk in heels that high, and I used to do it all the time!"

"You don't know everything about me," Frank snarked, walking over to Gerard, positively delighted that he was actually looking down on him. "How's the weather down there GeeBee?"

"Of all the heels in the world," Mikey said sullenly. "You had to choose the biggest, ugliest, neon-yellowist heels in the whole world."

"You know me so well," Frank winked, jutting out his hip. "Everybody ready to go?"

 

Frank didn't take the heels off for three weeks.

 

 


	5. 5 Times Ray Looked After His Boys +1 Time They Looked After Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ray is a mom, and his children are problematic.

1: Secret Stash

“Are you kidding me?”

Frank's voice rang out in the empty room, filled with anger and frustration. They hadn't eaten in two days because they had found no food, no matter how many places they stopped at. Even the crappy cans of sour dog food were better than nothing, but nothing is what they had.

Frank was stomping up and down every aisle of the abandoned convenience store. No food was in sight, and Frank's temper was rising. Ray could tell.

Ray was frustrated too. He was hungry, yeah, but Frank and Mikey were still growing and they were probably even hungrier. Gerard never ate much but Ray could tell he was feeling it too. His hands were shaky and he didn't seem to have much energy. Nobody did, really. Frank and Mikey had fallen asleep in the backseat of the trans am in the middle of the day, leaning against each other. It would have been very cute if Ray hadn't been worried. If this went on, and they got attacked by Dracs... no, he wouldn't think about that. Look for food.

When he turned a corner that led to what he assumed was the bathrooms, he noticed a third, unmarked door. When he tried to open it he found it was locked.

“I got this,” Gee said, coming up behind Ray and kicking the door harshly. It would have been almost impressive if the door had actually moved.

The redhead cursed and kicked it a few more times before giving up. “Damn thing,” he grumbled, walking away.

Ray was ready to give in too until he saw something. A shelf across the hall from the door, covered in dust, had a small silver key lying on top of it.

With a grin, Ray picked it up and brushed it off. The door opened with a little difficulty, but he was rewarded by his efforts. A pallet of Power Pup, wrapped in plastic but otherwise untouched.

Half an hour later and they were sitting around a smoldering fire outside of the store, eating a can each. Despite Ray begging them to eat slowly, Frank's food was already gone, and he was now lying on his back in the sand, limbs outstretched.

A smile crept its way onto Ray's face. This was a good day.

 

2: Sick

As soon as Gerard emerged from his room, Ray knew something was up.

Normally, he would emerge with a slight confident swagger, like he knew he looked like he just woke up and that's because he _did, dipshit_ , and he knows he looks good. He would grab a cup of the shitty instant coffee and lean against the counter, sipping it calmly and engaging in conversation with the others. Once he'd finished the first cup, he'd try to sneak another, completely ignoring Ray's protests of _caffeine isn't good for you_ and _we_ _only have so much_.

This morning, he didn't say a word.

He had huge bags under his eyes, which were puffy and slightly red. His hair was flattened to his head (although still very messy), and he dragged his feet as he walked. He took one sip of his instant coffee and then winced, abandoning the cup and going back to his room.

Evidently, Ray wasn't the only one who noticed. Mikey and Frank shared confused and nervous looks over the table, and then Ray's mind was set.

He got up from his place at the table and walked into Gerard's room, knocking softly before entering.

Gerard was settling himself down with his blanket, but he looked up when the brunette entered. “Hey, Ray.”

Ray winced at the sound of his voice. It was gravelly and low and sounded painful. “Hey, Gee. You okay?”

“I'm fine,” Gerard grumbled. “Jus' don' feel so good.”

“Sick?”

“Yeah.”

The sheer grumpiness in Gerard's voice made Ray want to smile, but he contained himself. “Need anything?”

Gerard hesitated, then sniffed. “'M cold.”

Ray felt almost proud that Gerard asked for help, and smiled. He left the room and returned a minute later, bringing in his own blanket. Gerard looked like he wanted to protest, but Ray wrapped the gray fabric around him before he could protest.

“Need anything else?”

Gerard waited a while before answering. He looked embarrassed, or maybe that was just the illness making his cheeks red. When he spoke, it was almost too quiet to hear. “'M still cold.”

In an instant, Ray grabbed the blankets and sat down with Gerard, leaning against the wall and pulling the redhead towards him until he was resting against his chest. Ray didn't even care if he got sick, he just wanted his boy to be comfortable.

Gerard was stiff for a bit, but when he finally began to relax he nuzzled his face into Ray's shoulder, making the boy grin. “Thanks.”

“Any time.”

 

3: Height

Lately, the Way brothers had been teasing Frank a lot.

Mostly about his height. One of the first things you would notice about Frank is that he was very short. The next thing would probably be he would deck you if you mentioned it.

Being short wasn't a bad thing, obviously. Ray thought it was very cute, and made Frank seem even younger than he really was, but he knew Frank didn't see it like that. He hated his height and the way that some people would undermine him for it. The group didn't think any less of him though, even if his legs were a bit short. However, they did occasionally tease, and after Mikey hit his growth spurt and Frank seemed even shorter, the teasing got worse.

Ray hadn't really noticed it until he walked into the kitchen to find the two brothers cackling at an enraged Frank. His face was red with fury and his fists were balled tight.

“What's going on?” Ray curiously asked, eyebrows furrowed.

Frank answered through gritted teeth. “These guys are being dicks.”

“Oh come on!” Gerard said through his laughter. “It's funny!”

“No it's not!” Frank said, which made Gerard laugh harder.

“What did they do?” Ray asked, getting a bit irritated himself.

Frank crossed his arms, nose crinkled in his anger. “They put my blaster on the shelf where I can't reach it.”

Ray's attention turned to the red bookshelf where they usually stacked Power Pup. A green blaster was sitting on the highest shelf, not too far for Gerard or Mikey or Ray to reach, but well above Frank's head.

Ray strode over to the shelf and picked up the blaster, ignoring the indignant whine that came from Mikey, and handed it to Frankie who took it with reluctance.

Then he turned to the Way brothers, arms crossed. He was going full Mama Ray Mode.

“That's not cool you guys. Teasing him for something he can't help.”

Mikey fidgeted nervously. Gerard didn't look him in the eye.

“How would it feel if we made fun of your awkward knees, Mikey? Or your chubby stage as a kid, Gerard? Not so good, huh?”

They mumbled their 'no's.

“Being a little short is just what makes Frank Frank. Don't make fun of him for it anymore, and apologize.”

The two said 'sorry' in unison, still looking awkward.

Frank still didn't look pleased, but that was okay. Frank never was very pleased. He always had something to be mad about. He was remarkably angry for his size.

 

4: Jealousy

Mikey was jealous, that much Ray could tell.

Gerard had told him that when they were kids they would cuddle, often. Mikey, although he would never admit it, was a lover of physical affection, at least from those he was close to. Gerard wasn't huge on it, but he liked it with Mikey because he trusted him and they were best friends as children.

Now Mikey sat next to the fire, arms crossed as he glared at it, occasionally glancing up to where Gerard and Frank had fallen asleep, Frank's face shoved up against Gerard's chest, arms around each other.

On one hand, Ray was proud of Gerard. He was finally opening up, letting them see him vulnerable and exposed. He was letting him be near him, touch him, even cuddle with him. That was great progress from when they first met.

But on the other hand, Ray felt bad for Mikey. Maybe he was being a bit clingy and maybe a bit too jealous, but he was used to his brother only be comfortable around him and now it was changing. And change is weird.

Ray could only take so much awkward silence and pity before he snapped.

“Okay, that's it,” he sighed, opening up his arms. “Come here.”

After a second's pause, Mikey crawled over all gangly limbs and indignation and made himself comfortable against Ray's chest.

Mikey was a little stiff, but he warmed up quickly, even burying his head under Ray's chin. His hair was a little long, it probably could use a trim. It was soft though and tickled Ray's neck.

Letting himself rub his fingers back and forth on the red leather of Mikey's jacket, he settled himself in for a long night of watch and took a moment to admire the stars.

The stars were a nice view, but his family was a better one.

 

5: Kidnapping

Ray sighed and placed a cool hand over his eyes. He didn't like being left behind while the others scouted ahead. He felt useless, and he worried. His boys (as much as they disliked being called that) were reckless, and they tended to leap headfirst into a fight, no matter how dangerous it may be. They didn't like to admit it, but Ray was probably around 99% of their impulse control. Who knows what they would get up to if Ray wasn't there to stop them.

His eyes flickered to the clock above the doorway. Simple, white glowing letters. They had been gone for a while. Maybe too long.

As if on cue, static crackled through the small radio on the table. Ray lurched towards the booth and grabbed it, ignoring the small amount of pain flaring from where he hit his hip on the metal. “Party? Come in Party.”

“Jet, we've been captured,” A hissed voice whispered. It was Frank. “You need to come get us. I have my face stuck in Party's butt. It's actually not a bad butt.”

“Copy that,” Ray gasped, decidedly ignoring the comment about Gerard's butt. “I'll be right there.”

Heart pounding, he raced out of the diner. He already had all he needed (he liked to be prepared in case something like this happened), and now all he had to do was hop on the one bike they owned (as dingy and small as it was). As he ran out to the red and white vehicle, a hiss that sounded far too much like a Drac for his comfort came from the small radio in his hand, then there was static. Ray's heart skipped a beat with fear but he didn't allow himself to pause. He had to hurry. A short drive on the bike and a big white van was in view, parked next to a trans am with a spider on the roof. He stopped a bit before he reached them (the bike was loud, it would give him away) and ran on foot, taking as much cover as he could in the meager tumbleweeds and cacti.

As he got nearer, he saw his boys. A redhead, a blonde, and a shortie with black hair were all sitting in a row on the back edge of the van, obviously being questioned. Frank had a gun pressed against the side of his head, probably being used as leverage. Dracs tended to assume he was the youngest when in reality he was just _mentally_ a four year old. Mikey was actually the youngest.

Ray forced himself to take a deep, quiet breath. Frank would be fine. Gerard would be fine. Mikey would be fine. Ray was going to save them.

He moved slower now, boots sinking into the sand with a soft hiss, crouched as low as he could without crawling.

Now he was only a few meters from the van. He could clearly hear the Drac talking in its garbled speech.

“Where is the fourth?” It hissed and pressed the gun harder against Frank's temple. “Where is he?”

This would be the part where Party would say 'right here' and smoothly slip from the bushes to shoot. Ray didn't do that though, because he wasn't a _fucking dumbass_. Silently, he aimed his blaster at the Drac's skull and fired.

It dropped to the ground with a thud, and Ray took out the other two before they could know what was happening. _Then_ he emerged from the bushes like a badass. See that Gee? Impulse control. Learn some.

“Jet!” Frank grinned, smartly not using Ray's real name. The Dracs were dead, but radios may still lurk around.

“Took you long enough,” Party scoffed, although Ray could tell he was grateful. He wasn't great at showing affection, but Ray knew what he meant.

Mikey gave a small smile. It might not seem like much, but to Ray, it felt like the sun had emerged after a long hard winter. Mikey didn't smile often.

“So what happened?” Ray asked, sliding his blaster back into the holster. “Did you get ambushed, or did you run headfirst into a fight without thinking for the third time this week?”

Mikey and Gee had the decency to look ashamed. Frank did not.

“We thought about it!” he defended himself. “Then we ambushed them.”

“Not much of an ambush if you were the ones who got caught,” Ray reminded them. A bit of guilt wormed it's way into his stomach at the disappointed looks on their faces. He sighed. “You guys need to be more careful. Maybe shoot them from a distance instead of getting all up close and personal so you look cool.”

Gerard mumbled something under his breath, then glared. “Can you untie us then? Because my hands hurt.”

“Oh yeah. Right.”

 

+1: Shot

After taking a moment to let his boys rub their sore wrists, Ray began to head back to the Trans Am. It was only a few seconds, however, until Gee tackled him to the ground, a split second before the telltale zap of a blaster reached his ears.

“Dracs!” He yelled, and the four scattered. Frank and Mikey took shelter inside the Drac van, while Ray and Gerard hid behind the trans am. Ray's heart was pounding as he addressed Party. “The Dracs must have called backup as soon as they caught you,” he cursed. “Did you see how many?”

“A dozen at least,” the redhead panted. He had a scrape on his knee from where he tackled the older boy. “Maybe more. We should take them out before more come.”

“Agreed,” Ray grumbled, peeking over the top of the Am and aiming his blaster at the first Drac he saw. It fell from a shot from Frank before he could fire.

Ray took down a few, but more seemed to just pop up. Like a hydra. A really creepy hydra.

“There's too many of them,” He growled to Gerard. “We should bail.”

When Gee hesitated, Ray added, “We can't put Kobra and Ghoul in any more danger.”

With a decisive nod, Gerard beconed the younger two to them. The plan was understood with a few small hand signals. Mikes and Frankie would run to the Am while Ray and Gee covered them. Then they could slip into the car and drive away. They would lose the bike, but it was a small price to pay for their lives. The thing was a piece of shit anyway.

Gerard gave the signal for the two to run, while he and Ray shot down as many as possible.

It wasn't enough. A blast nearly missed Mikey's head as he ran, so Ray, abandoning the plan, leaped up and pushed them behind the am, sheltering them with his body.

His body jerked as he ran to duck behind the car again, but it wasn't until he was safe and out of range that the pain started.

At first, it was mild, like holding a candle just a bit too close to your hand, but then it was fire, racing through his veins and turning his flesh to ash. A pained gasp escaped his mouth, and then a grunt as he tried not to scream.

“Jet!” someone was pressing against the wound his stomach. It burned, and he tried to push them away. The logical part of him, the part that hadn't been consumed by the pain, told him _stop, let them. It will stop the bleeding._ But every other part of him was in pain and he wanted it to _stop_.

Someone grabbed him under the arms and dragged him into the Am, laying him in the backseat. ◇ Hands pressed against his shoulders and prevented him from curling up, try as he might to fight them. He heard the engine turn on and felt the Am moving, but it didn't even feel like he was there. He was like a spectator, floating above his body and watching from afar. 

The pain in his abdomen was incredible, and this time he wasn't sure if he held in his scream or not. 

"How's he doing Mikes?" An anxious voice, probably Gerard asked. It was muffled like he was hearing it through water. 

"I don't know," the shaky, anxious voice of Mikey called back. "He's bleeding a lot."

The hands pressed down on his stomach with renewed vigor, and Ray lurched upwards, screaming, then fell into the blissful unawareness of black.

 

When Ray came back into consciousness, he was wearing nothing but a pair of pants and a bandage around his stomach. His vision was almost as fuzzy as his head, but he made out the form of Frank sitting next to him, staring at his hands.

The hands looked clean enough, at first glance, but then Ray's vision came into focus a bit more and he noticed the drying blood under his nails and on his sleeves. Frank looked shell-shocked. 

"Frankie?" Ray mumbled, blinking frequently. At the sound of his voice, Frank jumped, then stared at Ray as if he'd just seen a ghost. "Holy shit you guys he's awake!"

Footsteps thundered down the hall, and Gerard and Mikey barreled into the room.

Mikey simply stood in the doorway, shocked dumb grin on his face, while Gee sat on the side of his bed and shook his head at the brunette, grinning. And you said I had no impulse control? Look who's talking Mr. Sheild-Two-People-With-My-Body."

"Sorry," Ray chuckled, a tired smile on his face. I'll let our little brothers get shot next time."

The brunet turned to Frank, who hadn't moved an inch. "You okay Frankie?"

"Am I okay?" He asked, his voice wavering with tears. "You got shot and you're asking me if I'm okay?"

"Well," Ray chuckled. "I gotta look after my boys."

"Oh no you don't," Frank growled. "Not on my watch. From this point on, until you're fully healed, you will not lift a finger-not one finger-to help anyone in this diner, do you understand me? And that goes for yourself too. If you need help you fucking ask for it, understand?"

Ray, a bit startled by Frank's outburst, stared at him in shock. Then he started laughing. 

"Okay, okay!" He chuckled. "You win! I solemnly swear to your terms, Mr. Iero."

"Good," Frank huffed. "Because you don't get a choice. And no more sacrificing yourself for us, ever."

"Well hold on," Gerard interjected. "You can't make him do that. After all, you would sacrifice yourself for us, wouldn't you?"

"Not a chance in hell," Frank said, without a moment of hesitation. "You guys are dicks."

As the bickering began, Ray looked at his family with a fond smile.

They won't last a week.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, so I just today noticed that this book actually has kudos????? Seriously it makes me so happy, I can't stop grinning. Comments are really appreciated, even if it's just 'cool' or something.  
> -Simon


	6. Curly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the author just wanted a bit of mindless, plotless fluff.

Ray slumped in the diner seat, asleep, while the Killjoys watched him with curious eyes.

"You know," Gerard said. "Before I met Ray I had never seen curly hair. I didn't even know it existed."

“Me neither,” Frank said. “It's kind of cool. I wonder if it's rude to ask about it.”

“I don't think it would be rude,” Mikey mumbled, trying to be quiet for Ray's sake. “But I don't really know.”

“I'm gonna touch it,” Frank said, grinning. He reached out a hand and tentatively poked a brown curl, watching it move. He pulled it lightly and watched it bounce back, then giggled.

“How is he still asleep?” Gerard asked, also touching Ray's hair now. “Wow, it's soft.”

“Touch,” Mikey whispered to himself as he poked the curly mess. 

Frank wound one curl around his finger and rubbed it with his thumb, completely enraptured.

“What 'r you guys doin?” Ray mumbled sleepily.

“Not touching your hair,” Gerard said, at the same time Frank said “Playing with your hair.”

“Why?” Ray asked, eyes still mostly closed.

“There just wasn't any curly hair in the city,” Mikey said. “It must be like, really rare or something.”

“It's not that rare,” Ray said, rubbing his eyes. “I just had to keep it cut short and wear a hat all the time.”

“So what you're saying is that tons of people in the city had curly hair?” Frank asked. “And I never knew about it until now?”

“Pretty much.”

“I've been missing out,” Frank said, hands still buried in the curls. “This is great.”

Ray smiled warmly, then promptly fell back asleep. 

 


	7. Mikey Way and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mikey is autistic and Ray is a good friend

When Mikey woke up, the first thing he knew is that it was a bad brain day.

Although he had always had bad brain days, he never knew anyone else who did. The pills he had taken in Battery City dulled down the effects, but since he had left the city he hadn't had one. He knew it was going to be bad. He was hungry, but he really didn't feel like getting out of bed, so he laid there for a while, eyes mostly open, thinking about nothing. That is until Frank barged in.

“Mikeywakeup!” He yelled, launching himself at Mikey and squishing him. “We're going to Dr. D's!”

Mikey sighed. He didn't want to interact with people today. Couldn't he just sleep some more?

“Come on you dumb blond,” Frank said, sitting on Mikey's chest. “Speak.”

“Blegh,” Mikey said, which was more of a noise than actual words, but Frank didn't seem to mind.

“Come onnnnn,” Frank said, hopping off of Mikey and grabbing his arm, attempting to drag him. “The sooner you get up the sooner we can leave. We haven't seen Dr. D in forever!”

Giving up on dragging him, Frank switched to the puppy eyes approach, pushing his face close to Mikey's until their noses were an inch apart. “Pleeaaase?”

Mikey's skin prickled under the eye contact, and he tried to squirm away. Unfortunately, Frank was sitting on him again.

“Okay fine,” Mikey grumbled. “Get off.”

The shorter boy rolled clumsily off of him and landed on the floor with a thump, tearing out of the room without a second glance.

Mikey stood reluctantly after Frank had left, picking up his red leather jacket and sliding it on. There was a scrap of silk fabric in his pocket, which he rubbed absentmindedly.

He sat down on the floor and slipped on his boots (which came up to his knees). They were already laced, but Mikey made sure to tighten them to the point where he couldn't tighten them any more. The pressure was nice.

Then he grabbed his red gun and helmet, slipped on the worn leather gloves, and he was ready.

He walked out into the main room, staring at his feet and counting his footsteps as he walked. He didn't usually indulge in doing so, but if he was going to interact with people today he probably should be as calm as possible. The four of them walked out in silence, for which Mikey was very glad. He didn't want to talk any more than he had to, and he didn't really want to listen to anyone either. There was a slight breeze outside, and he flinched when a grain of sand found it's way into his eye. He began to rub at it, which of course made it hurt more. He rubbed harder in a slight panic, blinking furiously as his eyes watered. He really didn't need this right now.

He kept rubbing his eye, trying to get it out, get it out it hurts--

Gerard grabbed Mikey's face in his hands, shoving the blond's arms aside. “Chill Mikey. Open your eyes.”

He did so with great reluctance and tried to look anywhere but Gerard's hazel eyes, which made his skin prickle. A low whine came from the back of his throat.

Gerard brushed the bit of sand out with his thumb, then released Mikey's head as he squirmed away, barely resisting the urge to furiously rub his jaw where Gerard had touched it.

Although he was almost sure the others were looking at him, the four piled into the Trans Am, still silent. Mikey flicked his fingers at the air.

He enjoyed the low rumble of the Am as they drove, and contented himself by counting tumbleweeds they drove past.

After a small bit, Gerard (who was driving) put his elbow on the wheel to steady it and began to light a cigarette. It only took him a minute, but by that time they had almost drifted off the road, so Gerard yanked the wheel back, causing Frank (who was not strapped in) to topple over and smack into Mikey, who flinched. Frank giggled and didn't seem to notice.

Before long, the smell of smoke filled the car. Frank seemed to enjoy it, and Ray sent a glare Party's way, but Mikey felt sick. On a good day, the smell of a cigarette was disgusting. Now it was almost overbearing. He wanted to jump out of the window. Instead, he buried his nose into his jacket sleeve and scrunched his eyes closed. He wanted to ask Gerard to stop _so bad_ , but he knew it would be rude. He tried to imagine he wasn't smelling smoke.

It seemed like years before they reached the hideout of Dr. D, which was a meager shack fairly far offroad, but not far from a market. Mikey opened the doors as soon as the car stopped, taking deep breaths of air. His mouth tasted bad. Show Pony was waiting outside, lazily sitting on a cardboard box with their legs crossed, helmet on as usual. When all four of them had emerged from the Trans Am they gave a relaxed salute, then opened the door and bowed like a gentleman. Mikey carried his helmet with him, rubbing his pointer finger over the foam absentmindedly. He didn't really need it, but if everything got too much he could slip it on and hide from the world, blocking out some light and sounds. That would be nice.

He rocked back and forth on his feet as the others talked, although he wasn't sure what about. Staring at nothing, thinking of nothing, he finally began to relax. Until somebody poked his shoulder.

He snapped to attention and blinked at Ray, who looked concerned. “You all right Mikey? We called your name like three times.”

Mikey nodded quickly, feeling himself turn red. He was fine, it was just a bad brain day.

When their attention turned away from him, Mikey slipped on his helmet. They were talking loudly, and he was embarrassed. With nothing to fiddle with, he settled with flicking his fingers, enjoying the quiet 'thf' sounds they made as he did so. He felt the need to fidget still, so he rocked on his feet, and promised himself he could find something nice to do later. The thought did little to settle him.

They were there for hours. Okay, maybe it was more like one hour, but Mikey wouldn't let himself space out again, and time seemed to be dragging along. He had gotten bored of flicking his fingers and instead picked at hangnails, so the skin around his nails was raw and irritated. He was ridiculously frustrated, but didn't scream, no matter how much he wanted to.

“We should probably be going,” Gerard said after a few years, and Mikey perked up immediately. He was ready to go back to the diner and sit in his understuffed bean bag, and fidget with something. His right hand flapped a little.

Mikey blanked out for a second and then he was in the car, Frank putting his feet onto his lap.

He shoved them off and leaned against the window, not sure if he liked the feeling of warm glass against his temple or not.

He finally let himself space out, mind blank and eyes seeing nothing as the Trans Am drove along, occasionally snapping to attention when they hit a particularly bad pothole.

And they were home, and Mikey wasted no time going to his room and taking off his shoes and jacket, throwing them into the corner, then grabbed one of his fidget toys and flopped down on his beanbag, dragging the blanket from his bed with him. Once comfortable, with his legs tucked up, he began to fidget with the item he had grabbed, which was a balloon filled with sand.

The fabric of the beanbag was rough, but Mikey enjoyed the feeling on his paritally exposed shoulders and lower back where his shirt rode up. The blanket was tucked up around his neck so his whole body was covered, and his fingers were resting on his stomach, slowly squishing the balloon. His shoulders went limp and his eyes closed as the feeling of calmness slowly oozed through his veins.

He was partially asleep when there was a soft knock on his door.

A whine of frustration threatening to escape his throat, his eyes snapped open. Now he _really_ wanted to scream.

Instead, he called “Come in.”

A mop of curly brown hair poked into the room, glancing around for a moment before seeing Mikey, mostly hidden in a blanket and behind the door.

“Oh, hey,” Ray said. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Mikey balled his fists under the blankets. He didn't want to talk, he wanted to rest. “About what?”

“Is it okay if I sit?” When Mikey nodded, Ray sat on the edge of his bed, a few feet away from the blond.

“Are you okay?” Ray asked, eyebrows furrowed. “You seemed off today.”

“Fine,” Mikey said, hands still squishing the balloon. “Bad brain day.”

Ray tilted his head slightly, reminding Mikey of the dogs he read about in books. “A... bad brain day?”

“Yeah.” Mikey said. Talking seemed to be draining him. “You know what that is?” When Ray shook his head, Mikey went on with reluctance. “You know. Tired. Frustrated. Don't wanna do anything. Fidgety. Don't wanna talk. Don't wanna look people in the eyes.”

Ray blinked, understanding dawning on his face. “Oh. Yeah, that makes a lot of sense. Okay. Need anything?”

The corners of Mikey's mouth tilted up slightly. “Just wanna be left alone.”

“Okay,” Ray said, standing up. “Uh, let me know if you need anything. Bye.”

“Bye,” Mikey mumbled as Ray left, closing the door behind him. Mikey sighed and melted back into the beanbag, eyes closing once more.

 

A few weeks later, Ray appeared at his door with a bundle of blankets in his arms. Mikey was sitting on his bed with the balloon, but he sat up when Ray knocked. “Come in.”

“Hi Mikey,” Ray grinned. The bundle in his arms was multicolored and one corner was touching the floor. “I brought you something.”

“What is it?” Mikey asked, a split second before Ray threw it on him, practically burying him. “Agh.”

He heard Ray snicker as he poked his head out of the mountain, which was strangly heavy. “Okay. What?”

“It's a weighted blanket,” Ray grinned. “I made it by sewing sand into plastic bags and then covering it with fabric and stuffing. Is it okay?”

Mikey shifted around under the blanket, eyes wide. The gentle pressure around his shoulders and on his lap was comforting, and a chill went up his spine.

“I love it,” Mikey breathed. “Thank you.”

A smile lit up Ray's face.

Mikey leaned against the wall and lifted one side of the blanket. “Come sit.”

A few minutes later, the two were asleep, Mikey mostly wrapped around Ray's torso and Ray's face buried in the blond hair. It was all good now.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I love autistic Mikey. Let me know if anything here is incorrect or offensive so I can change it!
> 
> (Also, shoutout to 'toaster', who commented on my last chapter; I appreciate the attention)


	8. Panic in the Zones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mikey meets some new friends, and the author loves torturing him

As the sun rose in a splatter painting of pink and gold, the Killjoys fought tooth and claw for their lives, guns humming in their hands, helmets and masks firmly placed on their heads, eyes squinted in concentration and breathing scarcely. They had been fighting for more than an hour now, and the four boys were exhausted, adrenaline the only thing keeping them upright. Jet Star and Fun Ghoul were crouched behind the decorated white Trans Am, while Party Poison and Kobra Kid were behind a boulder.

Kobra held his red blaster in his hand, resting his arms on the rock to shoot. His helmet protected his face from getting shot, but now and then a Drac would get lucky and hit it, causing him to either fall back or duck down to catch his breath. His hands were sweaty and warm on the handle of his gun, but he didn't dare pause to wipe them. What had started as a simple clap had now morphed into a battle for their lives. Ray and Frank could get away if they wanted to, but Gerard and Mikey had become separated from them and were now too far away to run back. Their only hope was to kill all the Dracs before the inevitable backup arrived and overcame them. Mikey's stomach churned at the thought. For all they knew, Korse could be coming. Dracs were now programmed to recognize the Fab Four and call Korse when they did. He probably was driving here right now.

Mikey bit down on his lip as he brought another Drac down, but as he did a blast hit his helmet and he fell back, biting down and tasting blood.

“You okay?” Gerard grunted out over the gunfire, taking the risk of glancing at him.

“I'm okay,” Mikey wheezed out. “Don't know how many more hits I can take though.”

“We need a plan,” Gerard snarled as he shot a Drac in the neck. “This isn't working.”

Mikey got back up and began to fire again. “Agreed. What do you think we should do?”

“Get Jet and Ghoul to cover us while we run?”

“And that worked so well last time,” Kobra snorted, remembering when Ray had gotten shot. “Maybe we could run for the sand dune behind us, use it to run around the Drac van and confuse them. We might make it.”

“I hate to say it,” Party sighed. “But I think you're right. Count of three?”

“Three,” Mikey said, then got up and ran, diving behind the sand dune as soon as he was close enough. His brother joined him after a moment, rolling as he hit the sand.

“All right?” they said, almost at the same time, then smiled together.

“Come on,” Gerard said, stooping low and beginning to walk. “Let's hurry before any Dracs follow us.”

As they walked, the dune became smaller, so they crouched lower. Finally, they were past the Drac van, but that was when Party gasped.

“Watch out!” He shouted, and Kobra turned just in time to see another van pulling up before he felt electricity surge through his body and he fell, breathing hard, tasting metal.

He didn't see if his brother was shot too, because all he could see now was a pair of shiny black Drac boots, and feel the hands under his arms, dragging him through the sand and across the pavement.

He heard Ghoul and Jet yell, but it was fuzzy. There was a tingling pain on the right side of his stomach, and his vision was blurry and dark.

He was hoisted up onto something, then he heard the familiar slamming of a door. “We have got one!” A garbled voice croaked out. “Drive!”

He felt the ground he was sitting on lurch, and a moment later his helmet was ripped off, jostling his neck. He groaned and squinted at the bright light invading his corneas.

“Michael James Way,” the Drac scanning his face hissed. “Eighteen years old, brother to Gerard Arthur Way. Went missing from Battery City three years and eight months ago. Also known as the Kobra Kid.”

Mikey's vision began to sharpen as he came back to awareness, now realizing he had been shot with a blaster set to stun, and that he was sitting in a Drac van, surrounded by the monsters.

“Give him a pill,” the lead Drac said. “He will be docile until we get him to Battery City.”

Kobra suddenly snapped to awareness as he heard the rattling of a pill bottle, and felt arms pinning him down.

“No!” He yelled as a Drac approached him, a black and white pill in hand. He tried to grab his gun only to find his holster was empty. He must have dropped it when he was shot.

A cold Drac glove was on his mouth, forcing it open and shoving a pill inside. Mikey fought and thrashed, refusing to swallow, struggling to breathe under the hand covering his mouth and nose. He screamed, but it was a muffled sound. He heard one of the Dracs chuckle.

Then the van slowed very suddenly, and the Dracs stumbled. He forced himself onto his hands and knees and spit out the contents of his mouth, his tongue feeling strange from the quickly dissolving pill.

His arm was grabbed and he was dragged sideways, handcuffed to the metal bars lining the parameter of the vehicle. He fell onto his knees, feeling weak as the van doors opened and the Dracs poured out. The sterile smell of the room was making his head hurt.

He leaned against the wall, gasping for air, head spinning. His hands were trembling wildly, and somewhere along the line he had lost his red jacket and was now just wearing his yellow striped tank top. He felt vulnerable and scared and violated and he wanted nothing more than for his brothers to find him.

After a moment he forced himself to stop moping, and after he came back to attention he realized he heard the telltale sounds of a clap outside, guns firing and people shouting. With a jolt, he realized some of the voices were female. These were not people he knew.

He examined the handcuffs. They were BL/ind issued, black and snapped with powerful magnets. The BLI logo smiled eerily at him on each cuff.

He looked around for something to pry it off with, and to his delight, saw a smooth silver Drac knife lying on the floor. He picked it up and began working on the lock, but his hands were still shaking and his work was slow.

After a few minutes, he realized that the gunfire had stopped, and the voices speaking now were human.

“Are you okay?” A male voice asked, and he heard a faint female hum in response. Another girl said, “Let's go check out the van.”

A fresh wave of panic flared through Mikey, making him careless with the knife as he accidentally stabbed himself. His nerves were frayed beyond belief and all he wanted was to go home with his family.

Then there was a woman standing in the doorway of the van, eyes open wide in shock. She had long blonde hair partially tucked up into a snapback, a navy blue bandana, and a loose red tank top. Mikey didn't notice any of these things, however, as he was much too busy freaking the fuck out.

As he yanked and pulled against the restricting black handcuffs, stabbing wildly, he finally managed a lucky hit and the cuffs snapped, sending him into the opposite wall, the loose chain dangling from the cuff still on his wrist.

Breathing hard, he brandished the knife at the 'joy with both hands, still shaking. She made no move to surrender.

A man with glasses and dark brown hair arrived, looking around the corner. “Killer, what is it? Oh.”

“What is it?” a male voice said.

“Don't come any closer guys!” The guy said. “There's a rouge 'joy in the van with a knife.”

“Stay back,” Mikey growled, trying to hide the tremble in his voice.

“It's okay,” The girl, Killer, said. “We're not gonna hurt you.”

“Like hell,” Kobra said, wishing he could put on his helmet. “Step away from the exit.”

“Okay,” Glasses said, but Killer stopped him.

“Disco, are you nuts? We can take this guy.”

“I don't really think we need to 'take' him,” A brunet said, glancing around the corner. Mikey shivered under so many eyes. “He looks hurt, we should get him some medicine.”

At the word 'medicine', Mikey's eyes widened and he glanced at the bottle of pills on the floor. His stomach churned. “No. No way. Get back.”

“Easy man,” The brunet said, raising his hands. He had a spotted pink and green bandana around his neck and no mask. “We just want to help.”

“Get. Away.” Mikey snarled, aware he didn't look very threatening, especially to three armed Killjoys. “Don't make me use this.”

Disco grabbed the arms of his friends and dragged them out of the way, and Mikey spared no time. He darted out into freedom, taking deep gulps of air. He didn't turn his back on the three people or stop brandishing the knife.

“It's chill man,” Disco said. “We're not gonna do anything.”

But Mikey could tell something was wrong. His body language was off, and it looked like he was making gestures with his hands...

Suddenly there was a gun pressed to the side of his head, and an arm around his throat. “Drop the knife.”

Mikey's lip trembled slightly as the metal hit the sand with a soft thud. He was so tired. He just wanted to go home.

“That's it,” the girl holding him captive said. “You don't threaten my friends and get away with it.”

“You can let him go, babe,” Disco said. “Just don't let him take the knife.”

Without another word, he was shoved forwards. He scrambled away from the brunette who was holding him, breathing heavy from panic and exhaustion. He was now unarmed, wounded, and unmasked among four Killjoys, three of which didn't seem particularly friendly towards him.

“You're bleeding,” The guy with the bandana said, pointing out the obvious. Although the blast he had been shot with had been set to stun, it still ripped through enough skin to soak his shirt with blood. Dracs didn't do 'gentle'. Along with that, his lip was torn where he had bitten it, his wrist was cut from the knife, and he could feel a stinging pain and the trickle of liquid on the back of his head where he had fallen. This was not his day.

Mikey clutched his wounded side with one arm, wobbling on unsteady legs. He licked the wound on his lip tentatively and winced at the sting.

“North,” Disco said in a warning tone. “We are not taking in another stray.”

“You can't be that cold-hearted,” the guy with the bandana said. “Look at him! He looks like a kicked puppy, and he's hurt. Besides, all the others we've taken in were good.”

“But they didn't try to stab us!” Disco argued, not noticing how Mikey's legs were shaking with tiredness. “This fuck-hole did!”

“How could you say that!” North frowned. “He's a nice guy! He's adorable! He's... I think he's about to faint.”

And so he had, head hitting the sand. Or, he hadn't fainted, just collapsed. Sand was sticking to his head wound.

Warm hands lifted his shirt, and he looked into a pair of maskless brown eyes. “It's worse than I thought.”

Mikey heard a loud, frustrated groan. “You're already attached, aren't you?” Disco's voice asked. “Fuck.”

Mikey was very, very tired. Keeping his eyes open was equivalent to running a marathon. He began to drift...

“Stay with me,” North said, slapping the side of his face. “You can't go to sleep right now buddy. What's your name?”

“Not Michael,” he slurred, squinting his eyes.

“Okay Not Michael,” North said, smiling slightly while he tended to Mikey's wound. “I'm Northern Downpour, and that's Mr. Disco, Killer Queen, and Always.”

“You can call me Sarah,” the girl who had held the gun to his head chirped, crouching over him. “Most people do.”

“Hi Sarah,” Mikey mumbled. “Where's Ray? He always helps when we're hurt.”

“I don't know who that is,” Sarah said. “I'm sorry.”

At those words, Mikey lurched up, suddenly remembering that these were not his people. “Get off!” He yelled weakly at Northern Downpour, clutching his side and glaring with fire in his eyes.

“Angry boy,” Mr. Disco said, grabbing his shoulders and pushing him into the sand roughly. “We're helping you though.”

“Don't need help,” Mikey groaned. “I need my friends.”

“Wow, would you look at that!” Disco said, looking at North with a grin on his face. “He already has a group! Oh what a shame, guess you can't take him in. Darn.”

“Shut up,” North grumbled, punching him. He was wrapping Mikey's side with gauze now.

“Ow,” Mikey hissed. “Fuck you.”

“Fuck you too,” Disco said calmly. “You know, I almost wish he didn't have a group now. He's funny.”

“Stop talking about him like he isn't right there,” Killer Queen said, crouching next to him. “We should get him in the car, more Dracs could be coming any minute now.”

“There's _something_ coming!” North said, standing up suddenly. “It's a white car!”

“It's decorated though,” Disco said thoughtfully. “Maybe...”

He didn't get to finish the thought. The car pulled up and stopped with a screech, and three angry Killjoys swarmed out, guns aimed at the other four.

Disco, Killer, North, and Sarah all backed up, leaving Mikey vulnerable. Then a pair of familiar arms pulled him up and into a warm embrace. He smelled like stale cigarettes and motor oil.

“We've got you,” Gerard whispered soothingly into his ear. “It's okay now.” Mikey noticed he still had his gun pointing at the four.

“Who are you?” Ray said, face blazing with anger as his gun hummed. “What are your names?”

“Northern Downpour, Mr. Disco, Killer Queen and Sarah,” North said, hands raised in surrender. “It's okay, we didn't hurt your friend.”

“They held a gun to my head,” Mikey mumbled into his brother's bright red hair.

“You did WHAT?” Frank said, shorter than all of them but no doubt angrier. He was a terrifying sight. “I'm going to rip you limb from limb and feed you to the coyotes!”

“We helped him!” Disco yelped as Ghoul aimed his gun at his chest. “He has a bandage on his stomach, look!”

Gerard gently lowered him onto the sand and lifted his shirt slightly. “He's not lying, somebody bandaged his stomach.”

“The Dracs,” Mikey whispered. “They tried to give me a pill. I couldn't breathe.”

“It's okay now Mikes,” Party soothed. “The Dracs are dead, they can't hurt you.”

“Is he hurt anywhere else?” Jet asked, lowering his blaster.

“The back of his head is bleeding,” North stated. “But I didn't get a chance to look.”

Gerard lifted his brother upright as Ray crouched next to them, gently wiping sand out of the wound until it was visible. “It's alright. Head wounds just bleed a lot.”

“We should get you home,” Gerard murmured, passing Mikey to Ray, who pulled him onto his feet, half-carrying him. “Thank you guys for taking care of him.”

“No biggie,” North said. “If you ever need anything, let us know.”

“No,” Gerard said, a small smile on his face. “I think you've done enough for us. You helped our little brother, so we'll help you if you ever need it. Just ask for the Fabulous Four.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Disco = Brendon  
> Northern Downpour = Ryan  
> Killer Queen = Nicole  
> Always = Sarah
> 
> Man I just love putting Mikey through the works. And Ray. And anybody. I'm just the king of angst I guess.
> 
> Also, I'd just like to mention, I do take suggestions! If you have an idea you think would be good in a chapter, let me know!


	9. I Don't Know How, But They Found Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dallon Weekes is found.

The Fabulous Four drove in their trans am, chattering amongst each other while music hummed quietly from the radio.

Gerard was at the wheel, and although this was one of his favorite places to be in the world, it was also a very stressful place to be. He was constantly on the watch for Dracs or other BL/ind personnel, but he was smiling, and there were few places he was happier.

He didn't talk much, swapping his focus between Frank and Ray's conversation, the song on the radio, and Mikey's humming along. The windows were rolled down (as they usually were), and his violently red hair tickled his ears as it moved in the wind. A small-toothed grin adorned his face.

The conversation suddenly faltered and stopped as they continued to drive, due to what was outside the windows. The remains of a clap weren't uncommon in the zones, but any time they saw one that had obviously ended badly for the 'joys, they fell silent in respect. Ray reached forward and switched off the radio.

"Should we see if anybody is left?" Frank whispered quietly, hazel eyes open wide with sadness.

"It looks pretty fresh," Gerard mumbled, then winced at his choice of words. "Yeah, let's stop."

He pulled the Am to a slow stop in the middle of the road, and the Fab Four stepped out, eyes staring around in mourning. Blood splattered the sand, and although there were two Drac corpses, there was no van to be seen, which meant the Killjoys had either escaped or died. There was a leg sticking out of the sand.

Jet walked over to the leg hesitantly, crouching down to examine the black boots with bright yellow laces. When he pulled up the black pant leg ever so slightly and touched the pale skin on the ankle, he winced. "Still warm."

"Should we unbury them and burn them?" Mikey asked. It was a tradition in the desert for 'joys to be burned, so their ashes would mix with the sand and their soul would be free to return to the Phoenix Witch.

"Good idea," Gerard said and crouched down next to Ray. "Let's start digging."

After a good while of brushing aside the warm sand, Mikey found a hand, Gerard found the edge of a red leather jacket, and finally, Frank found a helmet with the letters IDK written in red above the visor. Together, they pulled the dead man out of the sand and shook most of it out of his pockets and off his clothes, which were sticky with blood. Once he was mostly clean, Gerard sat back on his legs with a sigh, staring in sadness at the ghosted Killjoy.

"May the Phoenix Witch look after your soul," He said in a melancholy voice, lighting a match. As he drew it closer to the body, Mikey slapped it out of his hands. "Wait! Is he breathing?"

Jet gently brought two fingers to the pale wrist, and his eye went wide. "There's a pulse."

"Let's get him back to the Am," Gerard said, lifting the man's shoulders. Ray grabbed his legs and they were off, stumbling through the sand and up onto the pavement, and finally into the decorated white car, setting him onto the already blood-stained seats.

"Take off his jacket and helmet," Ray said. "He's probably overheating."

Gerard, with the help of Frank, slowly slipped the red leather off the man's shoulders, leaving him in a black Hawaiian shirt, but hesitated at the helmet. A Killjoy's identity was precious and sacred and was only to be revealed if the 'Joy thought it was right. To take off his helmet would be an insult.

Finally, Gerard decided his health was more important than his dignity, and gently slid the helmet off his head, revealing a pretty face and fluffy brown hair. Two dots of blue makeup adorned his cheeks.

He bunched up the leather jacket under the man's head and slid into the driver's seat, turning the key and beginning to drive towards the diner, where they had some medical supplies.

The drive seemed to take ten times longer than usual, but when they finally arrived Ray and Gerard carried him inside, setting him gently on Gerard's bed (as he had volunteered it).

Ray unbuttoned the shirt and began bandaging the wound on the man's side while he instructed Mikey to get some water. The sight of the wound made Gerard cringe.

"So what do we call him?" Frank asked, leaning on the side of the bed.

"I don't know," Ray said. "Let's just call him IDK for now, since that was written on his helmet."

"Seems legit," Frank hummed as Mikey returned with a bottle of water.

Ray gently poured the water down IDK's throat, and all four of them winced when he coughed.

Large blue eyes fluttered open and stared at them with fear. "W... what?"

"It's okay," Ray hushed. "We're Killjoys. We're going to help you. Go back to sleep."

And so he did.

IDK seemed to take those words to heart, though, as he didn't wake for another three days. When it was Gerard's turn to watch him, he shifted and mumbled in his sleep, undiscernable words that he couldn't make any sense of.

Finally, on the third day, he woke, while Gerard was watching him.

Party, being the artist he was, was doodling absentmindedly, bored, while he sat in a broken chair and made sure IDK didn't wake up and freak out. 

He was halfway through drawing a vulture he had seen the other day when IDK let out a particularly loud groan and opened his eyes.

Gerard put down his notebook quickly, then leaned forward, smiling.

"Well, it's about time!" He said happily as IDK began to sit up, eyebrows furrowed.

"Where am I?" the brunet asked. "Who are you?"

"I am none other than the incredible Party Poison," he said, gesturing to himself gracefully. "And you are in my home."

IDK winced and brought a hand to his side, pulling up his shirt to look at the bloodstained bandages. "What happened?"

"We found you buried in the sand," Party explained carefully. "We dug you up with the intent of burning your corpse only to find you were alive, so we took you here and healed you."

"I remember waking up a few times," IDK said, mouth tight. "Once it was just really dark, and hard to breathe, and another time there were... people? I couldn't see very well but it looked like a giant ball of brown lint was talking to me."

Gerard doubled over, cackling. "Oh man, Jet is going to _hate_ that."

A smile graced IDK's face, then he frowned. "Where's my helmet."

"Uh, about that." Party winced. "We had to take it off to heal you. I'm sorry dude, but we still don't know your identity or anything so you'r--"

"Oh I don't care about that," IDK said offhandedly. "I just wanted to make sure I still had it."

"Yeah it's out in the main room," Gerard said, relieved. "Want to go get it with me?"

IDK swung his legs over the side of his bed. "Yeah okay. I'm Modern Cain, by the way."

"Nice to meet you," Gerard grinned. "Come on, I'll introduce you to the guys."

Party helped the (surprisingly tall) man out into the main room of the diner, where the other three were relaxing and talking.

"Gentlemen!" Gerard exclaimed, an arm around Cain's waist to support him. "I would like you to meet Modern Cain. Cain, this is Snake Kiddo, Get Stairs, and Gay Vampire."

"I'm actually Jet Star," Ray cut in. "And this is Kobra Kid and Fun Ghoul."

"Nice to meet you," Cain grinned shyly.

Gerard helped Cain to one of the booths, sitting him in it sideways so he faced the room.

The brunet fiddled with his hands. “When you found me... was anybody else there? Any other killjoys?”

“We didn't see anybody,” Gerard said, suddenly very quiet. “I'm sorry.”

Cain swallowed and looked down. “Oh.”

“What was your friend's name?” Mikey asked.

“His name was Mister Sinister,” Cain said dully. “I've known him since I came to the desert.”

“Maybe he escaped,” Ray said weakly. “I can radio Dr. Death if you want, ask him to keep an eye out.”

“Thanks,” Cain said quietly.

“Stay here for a little while,” Gerard offered. “So you can wait to see if Mister Sinister is still alive, and so your wound can heal.”

Cain nodded wordlessly.

 

He stayed for two weeks as his wound healed. The first week he spent mostly hidden away, and the others didn't blame him. Losing someone was hard, especially if you didn't get the closure of saying goodbye or even seeing their body. The second week he came out more, mostly wearing his white helmet, and helped around, sweeping the sand from the diner floor and doing laundry, which were things that would normally be left to Jet. He seemed to want to be kept busy.

After the second week, they finally caught word of Mister Sinister, and Dr. D radioed them with the good news.

“Mister Sinister is alright,” His gravelly voice told them as Cain's face split into a huge smile. “He's on his way right now.”

When Gerard turned off the radio and turned to Cain, he looked years younger. His face was filled with color and the bags under his eyes had virtually disappeared.

“He's alive,” Cain whispered, a huge grin adorning his face. “Sinister is alive.”

It only took an hour for Mister Sinister to arrive. In that time, Cain paced, while Ray worried about the still-healing wound on his side. 

When they heard the telltale roar of a motorcycle engine outside, Cain gasped. He ran outside and stopped inches away from who must have been Sinister.

He was shorter than Gerard would have expected. Not short, but still shorter than Cain. His face was entirely covered by a white mask made out of cloth, with a hole cut in the top for a mass of fluffy blue hair to stick out. He wore a dark blue shirt with small white spots and a pale gray jacket over that. His jeans were ripped and his white sneakers looked like they were splattered with blood.

Cain didn't seem to care.

Rather than hugging, Sinister stuck out a hand, seemingly for Cain to shake, but Cain laughed. “Just this once,” He said and dove forward to hug the shorter man.

The two stood there for a minute, hugging until Sinister stepped away and pulled up his mask to reveal his face, dark brown eyes crinkled with a smile. “I thought you were dead.”

“I thought you were dead,” Cain laughed. “Nobody could find you.”

“I drew the Dracs away,” Sinister explained. “I was going to come back for you, but when I did you were gone. I thought another Drac patrol had picked you up and taken you.”

“They found me,” Cain said, turning to the four, who were standing and watching with a smile. “I don't know how.”

“It's a gift,” Ghoul shrugged. “We seem to attract trouble.”

“Well thank you,” Sinister said, a smile gracing his features. “I owe you a huge debt.”

“Don't worry about it,” Party hummed casually. “It's what we do, I guess.”

Sinister smiled and said no more. After pulling his mask back over his face and waiting until Cain slipped on his helmet, he swung his leg over the bike, waited until Cain did the same, and then drove off, shooting them a quick wave as he did.

The diner seemed empty after that, without Cain's constant pacing or fussing. But there was a sense of cheer, knowing they had reunited two best friends.

 


	10. Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mikey is taken.

The desert was hot. It was unforgiving, uncomfortable, foreign, messy, and painful. Living in the desert had side effects, both physical and mental. Skin cancer, depression, infection, anxiety, the list could go on for days. Anything you could think of, the desert could cause it.

But especially short tempers.

Seasons weren't very prominent anymore. Summer and winter still existed, but it was less 'hot weather and cold weather' and more 'skin melting weather and sunburn weather'. You could tell when it was summer. And that's what season it was now, summer. Possibly the worst season in the desert. With the sun beating on your back, constant sunburns and chapped lips, and no relief from the heat except in the blood-freezing cold of nighttime, it was a wonder the fabulous four didn't literally kill eachother. As it was, they had arguments nearly every day.

Mikey wasn't one for arguments. They usually involved yelling, which was something he wasn't particularly fond of. Arguments were stupid, so if somebody started yelling at him, he would stay quiet until they calmed down. It was a rariety that he would actually yell back. But that's what had happened. It was a particularly hot day, and when Gerard started bickering with him, Mikey snapped. He was mad, goddamnit, and he had a right to be. Arguments were so fucking stupid. They were a waste of energy, and it didn't make you feel less mad afterwards. He didn't get it.

But he had still participated. He yelled at Gerard, Frank, and even Ray, and then stormed out before they had a chance to retort, anger simmering under his skin. He had hopped on his bike and driven away, which he knew was stupid, but he wasn't quite in his head right now.

When he had driven far enough that he could no longer see the diner, he stopped. He got off his bike and sat on the barren road, arms crossed over his knees like a pouting child.

Once the anger started to fade, he felt bad. He had yelled at his best friends, his brothers, for no good reason. He couldn't even remember what he said, or what they had been arguing about.

He sat there for a minute, moping, with his bleached blond hair flopped into his eyes. It was only when he heard tires on asphalt that he looked up. Nothing was in front of him, so he turned behind. What he saw made him jump up in panic. A white Draculoid van, speeding towards him, a drac leaning out the window, gun aimed at him.

He jumped on his bike and began to drive, but he didn't get very far. He just barely reached maximum speed when he heard a blaster shot, and his bike jumped and fell sideways, throwing Mikey off.

The skin on his hands was scraped off.

He wasn't wearing his helmet.

Jarring pain shot through his whole body, then everything went black.

 

When Mikey woke, he was tied to a chair, wearing a plain white shirt and black jeans.

His head ached, and his hands and elbows stung. Brain fuzzy, he shook his head, then froze. His hair was gone. Somebody had shaved it off. It was then that he snapped to attention. The chair he sat on was cold silver, glinting in the too-bright lights of the completely white room, with no signs of a door or windows.

As if it was triggered by his awakening, the lights suddenly dimmed until the room was almost completely dark. Then, suddenly, a screen flickered to life, taking up almost all of the wall in front of him, casting an eerie glow on his thin face. 

A face showed on the screen, and Mikey's heart skipped a beat. It wasnt a normal face, with skin and average features, it was a smiley face, drawn and black, mouth set in a perfect smile, eyes wide. He knew that face.

It was the face of BL/ind.

In a panic, he began to struggle. His arms were held in place on the chair with metal cuffs, smooth and black. His feet were given the same treatment.

"Nononono," Mikey said, half a whimper and half a growl. He was trapped. 

"Hello Micheal," a calm, crisp, female voice said, as the face of BL/ind stared at him. "Welcome to Better Living Industries. You are an experiment, the first of your kind. Better Living Industries is conducting a test to see if those who have betrayed them can be reformed back into Better citizens. Don't you feel special?"

"NO!" Mikey screamed. "SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!"

"You are safe now." The voice said clearly. "You will be Better."

 

When Micheal woke, he was in his bed.

The first thing he did was take his pill. It was white, and long, and he swallowed it dry. A smile lit his face. It was the day off, which meant he was free to stay at home, and get some of his work done!

With a cheerful grin on his face, he sat down and began to work on his paperwork. His grin faltered slightly at the messy writing, so he wrote slower, so his letters could be neater. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. That was... strange. Was it worth it to call Better Living Industries? No, he chuckled to himself. It's probably nothing important.

Smile still lit on his face, he walked to the door and opened it, quickly straightening his posture before doing so. Stood in the doorway were three men, all wearing Better Living Industries clothing. Two of them had their hair covered with hats, and the third obviously had flesh toned makeup slathered on one side of his face.

"Hello," Micheal said.

"How can I help you?"

"Hello," the man in the middle said. He had a hat on, and warm hazel eye's similar to Micheal's. His voice cracked as he spoke. "May we come in?"

"Of course," Micheal said, and stepped aside for the three men. They were wearing Better Living Industries clothes after all. They must be trustworthy. As soon as he closed the door, he turned to them, smile faltering slightly when he realized their eyes were all red, as if they were crying. "Can I... help you?"

"Oh Mikey," the man who had spoke before sobbed, suddenly lunging forward and grabbing Micheal, arms wrapped snugly around him. His hat flew off as he did, revealing longish, bright red hair.

"Your hair!" Micheal exclaimed. "What..."

"We missed you," the man cried into his shoulder. Micheal gently pushed the man away. He really felt like he should report this to Better Living Industries.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"You..." the shortest man, the one without a hat, said. "You really dont remember us?"

"Remember you?" Micheal asked. "I've never met you before!"

"You're my brother," the red haired man cried. "I've known you since you were a baby!"

"I dont have a brother," Micheal said simply. "I'm an only child."

"Bullshit," the third and tallest man said, whipping off his hat to reveal a mass of curly brown hair. "We're your best friends, Mikey."

"My name is Micheal," he said. "Please excuse me, I have to report this."

"I told you this would happen," The curly haired man growled. "He was forced to take the pills. He was brainwashed."

"Oh Mikey," the man with red hair sobbed. "How can you not remember me? I'm Gerard! Party Poison! And there's Fun Ghoul and Jet Star!"

Micheal gasped. "You're rebels? I need to report this."

"You arent going to report anything," 'Jet Star' said, voice softer now. "I didnt want to do it like this."

"Like what?" Micheal asked. Suddenly there was a spiking pain in his head, and he fell foward, groaning.

"Frank!" The voice of Gerard came. 

"Sorry," 'Fun Ghoul' replied. "But he wouldnt have come any other way. 

Micheal, despite the pain, struggled to get up. His head throbbed in agony. Suddenly somebody tilted his head up, and a strip of silver tape was put over his mouth. His hazel eyes widened in shock as he looked into the brown ones of Jet Star, who looked almost... regretful. "I'm sorry Mikey," He said, taping Micheal's hands together. "But this is necessary. I promise you'll thank us later."

Micheal yelled, but it was muffled by the tape. A bag was suddenly slipped over his head, and he lost all vision.

Someone yanked him to his feet and forced him to walk, a steady grip on his wrist. He was terrified.

"Step up," Jet Star's voice said after a minute. Micheal raised up his leg (just because he didnt want to trip), and was pulled up, suddenly standing on solid ground again. He was pushed down into a sitting position on some sort of bench, and the ground lurched. He was in a van, probably. After a moment, somebody took the bag off his head, and his eyes met the identical ones of Gerard, both of them obviously afraid.

He looked around the van. It followed the white gray and black aesthetic that almost all Better Living Industries vehicles had, so it must be issued by them, but instead of being filled with Dracs or S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W/S it was filled with rebels. Three of them, all staring down at Micheal, who was beginning to feel very small.

"I'm sorry Mikey" Jet Star said, crouching down to his level. He reached forward and ripped off the duct tape, which made Micheal gasp.

"Ow," he whispered to himself.

Fun Ghoul scratched at the high collar of his shirt, then sat down on the bench, his side pressed up against Micheal's. It was weird.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked Gerard, voice cracking slightly.

"Because you're my brother," the red head sniffed. "You're Kobra Kid, man."

That name sent a jolt up Micheal's spine. He blinked several times as his head began to ache. When he looked at Gerard again, the man's face was split in a hopeful grin. "Do you remember?"

"Remember what?" Micheal asked. "I don't know who Ko... that person is. I've never heard that name before." But as he said it, it tasted like a lie. 

"He'll remember," Jet Star said. "Once the pills wear off. For now, let's keep talking to him."

"A'ight," Fun Ghoul said, head resting on Micheal's shoulder. "Your name is Mikey. You're kind of a bitch. You dont smile much. You really like snakes for some reason, which is probably why you picked the name Kobra Kid. Which is dumb, because cobra doesnt have a k in it."

"I..." Micheal said. "You're lying."

"Believe what you want to," Fun Ghoul said, "But I'm telling you the facts. Here's some more. My name is Frank. I'm also called Fun Ghoul, but most of the time it's just Ghoul. Sometimes Frankie. You and I get along because we're both chaotic goods. That's Gerard, he's your brother. I dont know much about your relationship with him, but I know that you call him Gee a lot. Party is another name. You guys seem pretty close. And over there, that's Ray, or Jet. He's got some rad hair. You guys are really close, but I think Ray's really close to everybody. He's like the mom friend."

Micheal opened and closed his mouth several times, like a fish gasping for air. "I... I dont remember..."

"That's okay," Frank hummed. "You will."

Micheal didnt remember much after that. They drove in that van for a long, long time. At one point he blacked out, and from then on, he remembered chills wracking his body, shuddering and shaking on the floor, as if possessed. He remembered comparing Gerard's hair to ketchup, even making the 'pplpt' noise a bottle of ketchup made. Then Gerard's face morphed into a demon, with white skin and blood red lips. He remembered screaming. Then he woke up.

He was in a bed. The sheets were soft, and familiar. He wore an olive green shirt with something foreign written on it, and a pair of bright red shorts.

His head swam when he sat up, so he rubbed his eyes. When his vision cleared, he saw Frank, asleep in a beanbag char at the foot of his bed. Then it all came back.

BL/ind had kidnapped him. They took him in and brainwashed him with a mixture of drugs, torture, and videos. He was integrated into 'society' again, and lived in a house for three months before they found him. After falling asleep in the van... he barely remembered anything. Flashes of pain, and nightmares of demons. Was he safe?

He pulled the blankets off and swung his legs onto the floor, bare legs exposed to the air. As quietly as he could, he opened the door and left. In the main room, Ray and Gerard were sitting in a booth, opposite to eachother. Ray seemed to be reading a book while Gerard sketched something in a colorful notebook.

"Guys?" Mikey asked, holding onto the wall for support. His legs were wobbly, still.

Ray and Gerard's head's shot up, and in an instant they were hugging him, all three laughing. Frank joined the group hug at some point, but Mikey wasnt sure when.

"I remember," Mikey whispered into somebody's ear (although he wasnt sure whose). "I remember."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having a really bad day, please leave feedback on this chapter


	11. Vault

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ray finally tells all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: some pretty severe angst ahead. be careful.

In the beginning, there was nothing.

Then there was something.

Then nothing again.

Then something.

Nothing.

Something.

That was the pattern of Ray's life. People came and went. Happiness came and went. Love came and went. His life was an endless cycle of people leaving him, one way or another.

Until now.

Maybe he hadn't known these three men for very long. Maybe he didn't even know their last names. But they were here to stay. He could feel it. 

They were always the ones to open up. Maybe it was time Ray opened up too.

He came to this conclusion while sitting around a fire, watching as Gerard poked the flames with a stick, and Frank hummed a tune, and Mikey played with the sand. The Leader, the Fighter, and the Thinker. S

o what was Ray?

He knew, logically, that he was different than them. Physically, yes. His hair was curly, theirs were straight, his eyes were brown, theirs were all hazel, he was tan, they were pale. But he wasn't talking about physically. He was talking about mentally.

Mentally, his boys were like a frozen pond. They seem hard, and unbreakable, but it just takes a bit of warmth for them to soften up. They seem closed off, but just a bit of love and they'll open up and tell you almost everything. Ray was more like... a vault. If you didn't already know how to get in, you may never. He was a softie, really, but... he had hardened. Death and loss do that to a person, he supposed. Losing the ones he loved... it made him what he was. Who would he be without his trauma?

He kept... a lot of secrets. That's what his vault was filled with. His past.

Maybe it was time he gave them the code.

Although fear accelarated the beat of his heart, Ray opened his mouth. His vocal chords didn't seem to work at first.

“I need to tell you something.”

Three pairs of hazel eyes moved to look at him, faces alit in a warm orange glow. Ray's hands shook.

“I never really... told you everything.”

Frank's nose wrinkled slightly, the way it did when he was confused. “What do you mean?”

“I...” Ray's voice shook. “I told you I only ever Ran with one group, you guys. But I... lied.”

Mikey's eyebrows shot up. Frank's nose wrinkled even more, and Gerard's face stayed frighteningly the same. “That's not really a huge thing, Ray,” Gerard said. “It's cool that you didn't want to tell us at first.”

“That's not all," Ray whispered, heart heavy with the knowlage there was no going back. "My other group died. It was my fault."

He was met with silence. Disbelief shone in their eyes, paired with surprise and confusion. He counted to five, and when they said nothing, dove into his story. "I didn't escape the city alone. Frank knows this. I escaped with my best friend Bob. I wasn't even sure if I wanted to leave Battery City, but Bob... Bob was certain. He convinced me. "Bob was the one who led me out of the city. There was a hole in the wall, covered with a tarp that some lone Killjoy had put there. I never would have found it. But Bob did. We lived in the desert only a few days. Then we met somebody, on a road. They wore all black and white, and a mask covered their face. They called themself Draculoid."

Ray heard Gerard give a sharp intake in breath, and glanced up. Frank's eyes were sad. They knew where this was going.

"We talked to it for just a minute before it pulled a gun on us. It... shot Bob. In the skull." Ray squeezed his eyes shut tightly, tears threatening to spill. "He died."

"Ray, I'm so sorry," Gerard murmured. Ray wanted to be comforted. He did. But he knew that if he stopped, he wouldn't start again. So he kept going.

"I managed to kill the Drac, but I was alone. I stayed with Bob's body for a few days until I couldnt stay anymore. I left him. I found a water source, and I thought it was okay, but it was poisoned. Show Pony found me dying in the desert, and brought me to Doctor D. He healed me, taught me stuff, then sent me on my way. I was alone again.

"But... I found a crew. They had just lost a member, and they let me stick around. Before I knew it, I was one of them. Their leader, Broken Narcotic, gave me my name. Jet Star. 

"Then there was Chemical Innocence. She was so nice. And Cyanide Flare, he kind of reminded me of you, Frank. Then Vintage Neon. She was kind of like a mother to all of us.

"We weren't much. It was just a few od us, after all, but... we were a family, I think." Ray paused to rub his eyes, then took a deep, shaky breath and continued. "It was only a few months before I met Frank when it happened. We were at our hideout, and I was helping Vintage with her gardening, when she fell. She had been shot through the head. I don't even remember what her last words were.

"I was dumb. I freaked out and tried to save her, even though she had died in an instant. Broken rushed in, and she had to drag me away. Then she was shot. I panicked again. I didn't know what to do. Cyanide made me run. I didn't hear Chemical die, but I heard her body hit the sand. Cyanide put me on a bike and tolds me to drive, and never come back. I had my blaster, I shouldn't have listened. I should have stayed with him. But I was afraid. I drove away. He died. They all did."

With his story told, Ray bowed his head. He was thankful for his large amount of hair, since it created a curtain for him to hide behind, so he didn't have to see the disappointment on their faces. The distrust. How could they stay with him now?

Someone placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, so he looked up, albeit reluctantly. Parting the mass of curly brown hair so he could see, he looked at Gerard through tear-filled eyes, feeling like an absurdly breakable peice of glass. 

"Ray," Gerard said. "Do you think that was your fault?"

"It was my fault," Ray sniffed. "They would be alive if it wasnt for me."

"That's not true," Frank said. "It's not your fault, Ray. You did what anybody would have done. You panicked. It's human."

Ray squeezed his eyes shut, feeling hot tears run down his face. "I'm sorry," he whispered. He wasnt sure to whom.

Somebody leaned against him softly. He turned feebly to see Mikey, leaned calmly against Ray's side, eyes red and puffy but expression blank. "It wasnt your fault, Ray."

Letting out a broken sob, Ray turned to look at the sand. His voice didn't work anymore.

"Ray, seriously," Gerard said. "It wasn't your fault. I know you think it is, and I know you probably will think it is for all of your life, but it wasn't. Do you hear me? It was the fault of the Dracs who killed them, and nobody else."

Ray shook his head feebly, but didnt say anything. He was too tired. Tired of everything.

Gerard sat next to him, then flopped back onto the sand, pulling Ray with him. Ray found himself instinctively burying his head into Gerard's side, who didnt seem the least bit upset. Frank snuggled into the pile, and the four of them lay there, listening to Ray sniffling.

Ray was broken. Maybe he always would be. Maybe he was broken beyond repair. He had lost so much, and gotten so little back. He had never put so much trust in anyone, and now, without his secrets pushing at his seams, he felt empty, like a deflated balloon. 

He felt... weak. He was supposed to be the parent. He was supposed to look after them, and comfort them when they were upset, not the other way around. Did he deserve this much love? This much care, for a man who had let his friends die?

Yes, Ray was broken. But maybe, with a lot of time, and with a lot lf help from his friends, his brothers, he could rebuild himself from the rubble he had become. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im kind of proud of this one. also im super tired, its past midnight and im already sleep deprived lmao
> 
> (thank you for all the nice comments, everybody 💖)


	12. Author's Note

After re-reading this book and realizing how utterly trashy my writing is, I've decided I'll be re-writing it to give it more details (and maybe even some plot). I'll be posting it as a separate book, so keep your eyes out for it!!!


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